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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263264">one for the money, two for the show</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/g0ldrush/pseuds/g0ldrush'>g0ldrush</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>one for the money, two for the show [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: Legend of Korra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A little angsty?, F/F, Happy Ending, Modern AU, asami is just horny and sad, call girl korra, rich business woman asami</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:33:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>23,173</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28263264</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/g0ldrush/pseuds/g0ldrush</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Call girl, right?” Asami checks, despite her certainty.</p>
<p>“Correct.” Opal nods.</p>
<p>“-She’s good, I’m sure. An old friend of Kuvira’s, apparently. Pay her a nice bit on the side, she’ll keep quiet.” She reassures.</p>
<p>Asami might believe her, but turns her nose up regardless. She’s skeptical, always is when a break in routine is suggested, and picks up the card, analyzes it further. There’s nothing more to find - it’s plain black, gold embossed lettering - and she slots it wordlessly into her purse, drops said purse back onto the bar.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Korra &amp; Asami Sato, Korra/Asami Sato</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>one for the money, two for the show [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070498</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>423</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Asami’s life has grown monotonous, and Opal calls her out on it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They are sitting at a cocktail bar. Asami’s drinking her fifth martini and Opal’s already drained half a bottle of wine. They’re drunk, there’s no denying it, and are laughing amongst themselves, drawing the unwarranted attention of a clang of men in suits across the room. Opal scowls at them; Asami continues drinking like she doesn’t care.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She thinks that maybe it’s because it’s true. She looks good - made up in her silk red camisole dress, heels that extend her legs enticingly, freshly styled raven hair - and so what if she gets a little male attention that she doesn’t want, she decides. She looks good enough to have earned it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Opal still glares, but Asami orders another cocktail. She flags down the bartender, tips him a twenty, because she can. He serves her before he serves anybody else - Asami let’s herself laugh at his evident awe, thinks he must be new on the job - and stumbles away with a hopeful smile, a blush tinting his cheeks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Does that never get tiring?” Opal quirks an eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Asami deadpans.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t have to ask, but she does so anyway. Opal rolls her eyes, Asami doesn’t tell her not to, and points towards the bartender who’s serving another customer already, the men huddled around a table in the corner of the room that point, whisper, grin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Having all of these offers from people on the table but never accepting any of them”. Opal says accusatory.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t like men, Opal,” Asami sips at her glass.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean the women, too,” Opal says it like it’s obvious.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>To Asami, it is, but Opal doesn’t know that. She regards Opal with a smirk, shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly. Opal sighs into her glass of wine, blinks up at the ceiling and mutters god help me. Asami laughs further, fishes out the olive from her glass between her thumb and forefinger, daintily, and bites it with her front teeth. She gets a smudge of lip gloss on her thumb, though doesn’t fret about removing it. Opal seems more concerned than she is about the matter, and hands her a tissue.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The women are just as bad. You know that,” Asami waves her away.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You could have anybody-“ Opal drawls.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-Anybody in this room, anybody outside of it. And you want none of them?” She thanks the wine for erasing her filter.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking her head, Asami puts her foot down. She doesn’t want them, has never wanted them. They don’t do it for her - their pompous attitudes and pockets deeper than their souls make her want to gauge her eyes out - and she’s glancing warningly at Opal, tapping her nails against her glass.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not worth it. Too many ties involved. Too much potential to fuck up,” Asami summarizes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She tells Opal only what she knows to be true. There’s too much at risk. Asami doesn’t want to be another to succumb to temptation; she’s watched colleagues at her firm fall from the highest of pedestals for jumping into bed with the wrong person, turning a blind eye just long enough for speculations to form and contracts to be shredded.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Asami owns half of her company, Opal should know her better than to think she’d dangle that by a loose thread.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What if you found somebody who didn’t know? Somebody who would know just Asami,” Opal proposes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Asami grimaces, shakes her head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“They always know-“ Asami starts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-And if they don’t, then they’ll find out. There’s a clock to these things, and mine only has one hand,” She lifts her glass back to her mouth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She sips at it until it’s empty, feels the burn of the gin trickling down the back of her throat. It’s nice, Asami likes it. She’s ordered another before Opal has a response ready, the same bartender as flustered as before. She thanks him with a smile, this time, calls him darling because she can. She has ten years on him, easily, could buy his entire existence with only the money folded in her wallet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you’re keeping your options too slim,” Opal proclaims.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Asami scoffs, pours Opal another glass of wine before she can protest. Asami needs her drunk, more drunk than she already is if she’s going to deal with her for another hour, at least. She counts herself lucky when Opal doesn’t argue back, props her elbow on the bar surface in front of her, instead.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Please, I think I’ve exhausted all of them-” Asami admits.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-I’ll start looking for somebody when I’m retired. Find some old white guy that won’t complain about upping and leaving for a villa somewhere in Europe. It’ll be nice,” She concludes, stares directly down at her red manicured nails.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’s convincing, Opal will give her that - or she would be, if Opal didn’t know Asami like the back of her hand - and is narrowing her eyes when Opal barks out a laugh. Placing her hand on top of Asami’s that rests on the base of her glass, Opal squeezes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re funny-“ Opal nods.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-You’d never do that,” She emphasises.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Asami shrugs. She wouldn’t, ever, wouldn’t even consider it, but the thought is there, and it’s one that becomes more probable with each day that passes in which she spends hours on end holed up in her office, the numbers in her bank climbing higher than they ever have while her personal life swirls down the drain. She’s not complaining; she’s worked hard, doesn’t care for another person to drag along with her.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe not-“ Asami points out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-But it’s better than whatever you’re about to suggest,” She cocks an eyebrow.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Opal can’t lie. She’s never been able to. Her face gives away too much for Asami not to be able to pick up on it. She tries biting at the insides of her cheeks - it never works, Asami’s told her to give up on many occasions - and twists uncomfortably in her seat. Asami reaches out a further hand to stop her from toppling and nearly falls with her in the process. She’s had enough to drink but doesn’t know when to stop.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, all I was going to suggest was-“ Opal heaves in a breath.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-Look, you’ve fucked friends before. Do it again, if you have to. It’s never sent you far wrong,” She offers.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Asami looks offended, and then smug. She trails a featherlight touch up Opal’s arm, curls her fingers around her bicep. She clenches the softness of it beneath her palm, hums when Opal tugs the lapels of her blazer closer to her chest. Asami knows what she’s doing, and Opal does, too. She tells her no with a single flutter of her lashes, nods towards the ring on her left hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s not what I’m saying-“ Opal chuckles.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-You know we can’t, I’m married now,”  She turns the ring on her finger, watches it glint in the low light of the room.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hm-“  Asami licks across her top lip.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-I keep forgetting. How long until you plan on filing for divorce, again?” Asami winks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She can’t fault Opal’s intelligence, no matter how much she lacks common sense. She has all of the brains that make her Asami’s right hand woman, every ounce of charm that ensures she can drain any man that she sets her eyes on. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not anytime soon,” Opal deliberates.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course-“ Asami smirks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I have another idea-“ Opal adds after another sip.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-But you won’t like it. Actually, I think you might think I’m delusional” Opal chuckles.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Asami might. She very well might, but nods her head, gives Opal the green light that she’d been seeking. Opal takes in a breath, reaches into the pocket of her blazer, and presents a card that Asami scowls at. She places it down onto the bar with a slap, watches it drown in a droplet of martini that Asami had spilled.. The card is expensive enough that the ink doesn’t smudge.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this-“ Asami starts, doesn’t get to finish.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes-” Opal ticks a strand of hair behind her ear.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-It is, and I think you should consider it,” She doesn’t say it like she’s joking.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’s being deadly serious. There’s no hint of humour in her voice, and she slides the card closer to Asami.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A phone number.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The letter K.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t have to be a genius to work it out. She’s been in the world of the elite long enough to know what business cards like this are made for, specifically; Opal is suggesting it to her brazenly, in a crowded Upper East Side bar, with the bartender staring at them as if they’ve just turned water into wine.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Opal thinks they might have.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Call girl, right?” Asami checks, despite her certainty.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Correct-“ Opal nods.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-She’s good, I’m sure. An old friend of Kuvira’s, apparently. Pay her a nice bit on the side, she’ll keep quiet,” She reassures.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Asami might believe her, but turns her nose up regardless. She’s skeptical, always is when a break in routine is suggested, and picks up the card, analyzes it further. There’s nothing more to find - it’s plain black, gold embossed lettering - and she slots it wordlessly into her purse, drops said purse back onto the bar.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you had this card because?” Asami beams, smirks widely.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Opal hushes her, assures that she’d never dialled the number stamped onto the rectangle of paper, but laughs along drunkenly. They continue, without another word, and three hours later, Asami floats home, thanks her driver with a tip that she slips into his pocket.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She doesn’t give the card in her purse a second thought.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Asami has a stressful day at work a week or so later, and ends it in Opal’s office with a bottle of wine.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They split it between them - Opal jokes about becoming grape dependent, Asami doesn’t find it funny - and are tipsy by the end of the hour. Asami’s still unhappy. She’s angry, disappointed, repentant. Opal had given her a once over when she’d stepped into the room; Asami was spilling her guts onto the hardwood floors before she knew it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>A case gone wrong.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Employees that she neglects to remember the names of getting figures confused.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>An honest mistake - perhaps, she thinks - but one that has left a vital investor hanging off of a cliff's edge, nonetheless. Asami would be out for blood if it wasn’t for Opal, again, fixing what she daren’t touch. Everything is fragile, Asami hates it, and swigs down the rest of her glass. Opal’s typing away on her computer throughout. She glances up at Asami after ten minutes of silence with a nod of her head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s done.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“All is in order,” Opal confirms, a short smile and professional lilt.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Positive?” Asami checks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She needs to know. She trusts Opal more than she’s able to put into words, but she’s only human. She makes mistakes. She’s done so before, though they’ve never landed the both of them in a worse position than they’d begun in. Still, it’s not something she wants to have to deal with, or explain to her colleagues. Not at six o’clock on a Wednesday.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not ever.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Investors are in. Donors are signing as we speak,” Opal clicks out of her emails.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Ok, good-“ Asami sighs, crosses her legs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The point of her heel hits the oak of the desk in front of her, and she flinches. Opal grimaces for her, too, but reaches for the bottle of wine to give herself a top up before Asami’s able to say anything. She doesn’t want to hear it; Asami gathers as much when Opal unbuttons the restrictive hooks of her blazer, breathes evenly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-That’s great, thank you,” She praises.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Opal merely nods her head courteously. It goes unspoken between them as it often does. They clear up each other’s damage, control it with an ease that they both know their contemporaries envy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s why they’re the best, Opal tells her, midway through the dregs of what will be her last glass of red.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Like I always say, don’t worry-“ Opal chastises.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-We’ve got this, you and I,” She affirms.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know-“ Asami hums.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And she does know. There’s not an ounce of doubt in her body. Opal’s smoothing out non existent creases in her pencil skirt when she stands, crosses the room to retrieve her overcoat. She places a hand on Asami’s shoulder in passing and squeezes. Asami straightens her spine as if on command, catches herself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Always catches herself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-It’s been a long day. Sorry,” It’s a meek apology.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Opal’s looking at her like she’s sure she doesn’t mean it, and she’s right. Asami doesn’t apologize - not to her colleagues, her friends, certainly not the one woman that she relies on - and pretends that she’d never said it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Opal doesn’t question her further.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So-“ Opal tries.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She glides from one topic to another effortlessly. Asami wishes that it had been a talent that she’d been gifted with. There’s never a beat that she’s unable to fill, never a moment of awkwardness that she’s unable to dissipate with her charm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Charm.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Asami watches Opal shrug on her coat, balance herself against the edge of her desk, her briefcase already in hand. She stares Asami down, through her reading glasses sitting on the tip of her nose. She peels them away - they’ve left indentations between her brows, Asami notices - and uses her free hand to grasp Asami’s chin.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s gentle. Opal’s always gentle, and she tilts Asami’s face up to look at her, really look at her. Asami feels herself shrinking.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-You’re still tense,” She remarks.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Asami is. She doesn’t verbalize it, understands that she doesn’t have to.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll go home, bring Asami back tomorrow,” Asami nods.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’ll bring herself back in. Opal knows what she’s insinuating. The woman sitting before her isn’t Asami. It never is after a shake to the foundations of what they’ve built. She needs time, and she’ll get it; Opal relents after arching her brow and kissing her teeth for good measure.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure-“ Opal drops her hand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Asami stands too, then, picks up her respective briefcase. Her palms are sweaty, and if Opal notices, Asami’s thankful that she doesn’t mention it. She’s glad for all that Opal doesn’t say, until it forces itself out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-You didn’t call that number I gave you, did you?” Opal points a finger.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>No.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Stiffening, Asami tells her so. She hasn’t, hasn’t given it so much as a second thought since she moved the card from her purse to her wallet, tucked it behind her drivers license. She tells herself the action had meant nothing but knows herself well enough to understand that she’s not fooling anybody. Not Opal, especially.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t,” Asami follows Opal to the door when she begins walking.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well-“ Opal huffs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-I think you should. If not for your sake, for mine” She nods.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Asami takes it as a farewell, and then Opal’s gone, telling security to lock up after them over her shoulder. She struts out of the building in her heels, flags down her driver before Asami even makes it to the exit. She exudes the same power that Asami knows she herself does too, and looks on approvingly, proudly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She contemplates Opal’s words, briefly, and decides that she’ll take her advice, maybe. Possibly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>If not for her sake, for Opal’s.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Asami calls the number, and it’s different.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s no pretence when the woman on the other end of the line picks up - she jumps right in, asks Asami if she’s interested in hearing something - and Asami clenches her fists. Her voice is deep, Asami doesn’t want to admit that it’s nice, enticing, and curls her toes into the blanket at her feet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’s in bed. It’s eight o’clock on a Wednesday, and she’s in bed. Her blankets feel too heavy to begin with, but then not heavy enough when the woman keeps talking. She’s asking Asami what she wants from her; Asami doesn’t even think that she’s come to that conclusion for herself, yet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Left to her own devices, without Opal’s constant supervision, Asami knows she’s difficult. Her decisions take twice as long as they normally do, which is long, anyway, and become drawn out endeavours. Asami’s preparing to open her mouth when the woman sighs. She’s bored. Asami thinks the woman probably has her down as a cold caller.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Times ticking,” The woman, K, goads.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Asami isn’t blind, she can see the seconds rolling by one her phone screen. K acts like she’s the only person that matters in their conversation - Asami guesses that she might have a point - and clicks her tongue against her teeth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t like it, but then she’s answering and none of it matters. If it does, Asami wipes it from her mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“One night. I pick the hotel. You turn up and never breathe a word of it to anybody-“ Asami asserts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-Got it?” She snarls.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She’s being harsh. She knows she is. Her words come out brash, unforgiving, but K hums affirmatively and wipes each doubt from her mind with a sigh that breezes down the line. Asami shivers, turns into the pillow beneath her head, waits for a response that takes seconds to arrive.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Got it-“ K chuckles.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-As long as you’ve got it?” She paraphrases.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Meaning?” Asami rolls her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Asami likes straight talking. Riddles aren’t something that she has time for. So far, K seems like a conundrum that she’s never going to solve, and she’s not certain that she wants it even as she agrees to it. Opal’s voice rings in the back of her mind, telling Asami that she’s a glutton for punishment.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Meaning, let’s talk money, baby. My schedule all depends on it, you should know that,” K elaborates.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’s nothing that Asami hadn’t been expecting. She knows how these things work despite having never ventured into them herself - she’s been around people who have, people who still do - and is nodding numbly. K can’t see her, no matter how much Asami wishes that she could, and she clears her throat, straightens out her legs.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“That won’t be an issue-“ Asami commands her attention.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It has K intrigued.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-Whatever your best client pays, I’ll top it. No questions asked,” She finishes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It really isn’t an issue. Asami keeps telling herself that she isn’t stupid, and she isn’t, not by a long shot. She’s clever, educated, and knows that she could double, triple this woman’s highest paying member of clientele if she so wished to.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And she might, if she’s worth it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“In that case-“ K projects.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-Nine tomorrow. Your choice of hotel. You pay half when you get there and half when you leave. Do we got a deal?”It rolls off of her tongue.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In her mind, Asami’s already said yes. She verbalises it, just for K, logs that Opal would be patting her on the back in triumph. She can feel the phantom touch, forcing the thought of it away. K is more patient this time - Asami assumes it’s because she knows that Asami is serious, now - and gives her the reigns.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, deal,” Asami nods.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a beat of silence.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You got a name I can take, hm?” K adds.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Asami snorts.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure I do-” She responds</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“-But that’s not important, is it?” The question is rhetorical.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>She hangs up with K still garbling nonsense that Asami doesn’t care for. It’s exhausting, their intentions are evident.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Nothings ever been clearer, and Asami exhales through her nose. She puts her phone on the bedside table, then, buries herself further into her matters and falls asleep before nine o’clock on a Wednesday. She tells herself that she needs it, doesn’t fight the fatigue that pulls her under, and closes her eyes to the remnants of K’s voice, sweetening her tongue and poisoning her thoughts.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>okay let the smut begin! these bitches have a mommy kink so... warning i guess?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Asami chooses a hotel across the city.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Expensive, predictably.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The staff are overly friendly and Asami hates them for it. She doesn’t reserve the penthouse, though could have, if she had wanted to, and instead opts for a regular luxury suite. The staff still treat her like she breathes solid gold and Asami doesn’t miss it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t bring them up on it, either.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The room is - it’s fine, it’s nice, beige walls, she observes - and she checks in twenty minutes before nine o’clock. She’s early, as she often is, and sends the room number over to K, receiving nothing but a curt ok for her efforts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami guesses that this is how it works.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She waits, and waits a little longer, hides away her small suitcase in the corner of the room. Her suit pants feel too constricting and her high heels an inch too high; fellow guests in the lobby had still stared at her as she’d breezed through, flashing a smile that allowed her past the front desk without so much as a swipe of her bank card.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami still finds it laughable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stands stoic in the center of the room a minute before the clock ticks over into the next hour. There’s a full length mirror, and she regards herself in it. She wonders briefly what Opal would tell her if she knew; Asami thinks Opal was one step away from calling K for her if it came down to it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Both are glad that it didn’t, though neither tell each other.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her black blazer nips her in at the waist. She looks every bit the part, knows that she can step up to it, too, and pushes out her chest. She’s left the top button of her shirt undone, purposely, hopes that K will appreciate it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She knows that she does when a blink later K is tapping at the door before pushing her way in, eyeing Asami curiously. K’s gaze trails from her head downwards. From jewelry to clothing, posture to red bottoms, K knows what she’s dealing with and she’d be lying if she said it was surprising.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s nothing that she hasn’t seen before, Asami gathers as much from her sway across the room. They stand a metre or so away from each other, K looking up at Asami from beneath her heavy lashes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami notes that she has a head on her, at least, even with the heels that heighten the both of them. She towers over her - it’s nice, the familiarity of control is what’s keeping her grounded - and becomes the one to close the gap between them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’re chest to chest, practically. K is composed and Asami wants to reverse that. She will - it’s only a matter of time, she swears - and nods her head, regarding her. K smiles, cocksure and certain into the space between them; Asami takes in her sculpted features, brown shoulder length hair, all sleek, and her trench coat that -</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>- it’s a ridiculous guise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>K doesn’t look at all bothered by it. She’s left the top of said coat gaping intentionally. Asami can see the lace of her bra poking out of the neckline though doesn’t tell her, yet. There’s no reason to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Korra,” The woman licks across her lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami didn’t think she’d be getting an actual name.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something tells her she’s not lying, either.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good to know,” Asami states simply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is. She wanted a name. It helps, she tells herself. And it does, gives her a label that she can adhere to the woman, something to call out amongst expletives that she hopes to draw from her lungs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra doesn’t seem satisfied, though. She wants a name - Asami’s not going to give her one - and frowns microscopically. It flashes across her face and disappears before Asami can comment on it, but it was there, and it happened, and Asami can focus on nothing apart from the wad of cash tucked into the waistband of her pants.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Half now?” Asami checks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhm,” Korra clarifies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok-“ Asami pulls the money from her side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-Name your price” The corner of her mouth twitches.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra does, and Asami doubles it, true to her word. She slips it into the palm of Korra’s hand. From there, Korra folds it nearly into the pocket of her coat. It’s safe there. She nods in approval towards Asami, and shrugs off said coat, places it onto the dresser.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Beneath, she’s wearing a camisole dress that does nothing for her. Her lingerie beneath it is black, hazed by the see through cotton cloaked over it. It’s dark, Asami likes it, likes the way it compliments the warmth of Korra’s skin, and she glides a tip of a finger down the length of Korra’s bare arm once given the go ahead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You paid in cash,” Korra shivers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did-“ Asami hums.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-Your point?” She queries.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mulling it over, Korra arches an eyebrow. She’s not discreet about it, this time, chooses to lean into Asami’s menial caresses. They keep travelling further down her arm, and she chooses to believe that Asami knows what she’s doing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe she does - she’ll find out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No bank transfer?” Korra checks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Too traceable,” Asami shakes her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her fingers wrap around Korra’s wrist. They pull, until their bodies touch. Pant suit to cotton dress that should have gone already. Asami tugs at the hem of it; Korra takes this hint quickly, it’s her job, and is stood in just her lingerie, her suspenders and heels that make Asami want to sink her teeth into her calves.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra gives her another once over.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re important.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami knows that she is, but it’s nice to hear it from somebody other than herself and her colleagues, an outside source. She smiles and nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you know why you need to keep this quiet, yes?” Asami checks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smirking, Korra slinks her arms around Asami’s neck. She pushes herself up - and hums, noncommittal. She can already tell from the power in Asami’s stance as well as her words how things are going to work, this time around, but it doesn’t stop her from trying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She succeeds, in a way. Asami’s eyes close and Korra tugs at the hairs at the naps of her neck. The pull is delicious against her scalp; Asami only catches herself when Korra’s talking again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, what? You’re important but not important enough to make a ‘lil payment slip under the radar?” Korra pulls again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pressing their foreheads together, Asami grunts. Korra knows what she’s talking about - Opal had been right when she had said Korra was good - and Asami purses her lips approvingly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not stupid,” Asami tells her, because she isn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra seems to agree.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No-“ She states.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-You’re smart,” Korra nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami’s hands are on her hips, then, yanking her closer and closer. Korra doesn’t protest. She breathes hotly into Asami’s face, mouth parting against her cheek, and Asami slips a leg between both of Korra’s thighs that spread in her stilettos. It’s promising. Korra groans outwardly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And?” Asami coaxes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Korra swears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami trusts that she will.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra had looked at the money with a glint in her eye and a soft simper on her face when Asami had handed it over. A silent promise. It had been what solidified Asami’s decision in not walking out of the room, telling her to forget, forget all of it. A nameless face that Asami still is, really.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s good.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Asami husks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s not worried, anymore, not when Korra leans into her further, drags her lips across her neck. Asami has half the mind to tell her to stop. She’s wearing a shirt that’s silk and Korra’s lipstick is red; she shouldn’t want her to stain it, ruin it, but she does.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You remember the rules I sent you, right, baby?” Korra drags her lips lower.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Red stains white.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I remember.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I say stop, you listen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You say stop, I listen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No kissing on the lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No marks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Leave by checkout the next day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami remembers all of it. It’s ingrained in her bones, fixes itself there with every pucker of Korra’s lips against her collarbones. She pulls away to face Asami once more when she reaches the top button of her shirt, half tucked into her pants, her blazer, and presses a finger to her chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then that’s all I need to know,” Korra punctuates.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She could be lying, and it’s a thought that Asami’s not naive to. But it’s not a thought that’s particularly concerning in that moment, either, Korra unbuttoning her blazer and her shirt and her pants; she’s as undressed as Korra is and it’s nice, she likes it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami kicks off her heels and walks them backwards, telling Korra to keep her bra on. It looks good on her, Asami wants to indulge in the visual for a while longer. She gets to do so when Korra listens, folds herself onto the bed just for Asami.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s spread out ethereally. Asami wants to ruin her - she’ll get her chance, her time - and crowds into Korra’s space. Korra toes her heels off, too, Asami helping with the tiny gold buckles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>it’s a sight. Asami thinks Opal might have had a point, or several, after all, and drops her head to drag her respective lipstick up the length of Korra’s neck. It’s tense, muscles and tendons clenching. Asami nips and sucks where she’s able to, ever cautious of no marks, no kissing on the lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami didn’t expect it to be hard, though it proves to be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wants Korra’s lips on hers, tongue in her mouth and teeth clacking unashamedly. Her lipstick is smudged beyond her lip line, down to her chin as well as the fabric of Asami’s forgotten shirt. She moans lowely and those lips part sinfully again; it’s all Asami focuses on before she scalds herself, rids Korra of her bra, her panties.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tired of the visual, impatient for anything, Asami tugs on Korra’s hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can you be good?” She isn’t quiet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s loud in the room around them - it’s saying something considering the size of it, the height of the ceilings - but Korra doesn’t flinch. She’s looking up at Asami like she wants it, and Asami dares to think that maybe she does.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe it’s not an act.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Mommy,” Korra whines.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami has the audacity to grin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah? You into that?” Asami teases.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra merely nods her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t have to say it and Asami doesn’t have to ask. It goes unspoken - Asami’s feeling out Korra’s buttons, has already mastered one, maybe two - and she’s flipping her over, pressing her hips into the mattress.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra is warm, hot hot hot underneath her. Asami rolls her hips experimentally against the swell of Korra’s ass, hums appreciatively. Korra grinds back, Asami lets her, and becomes an orchestra of moans as Asami’s hand slips between her legs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s wet. It coats Asami’s fingers, the thumb that she works against her clit, and dampens the sheets that bunch up with each twitch. Asami presses the palm of one hand into the small of Korra’s back, keeps her grounded as she fucks into her with two fingers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Flicking her hair behind her shoulder, lowering her mouth to Korra’s ear, Asami growls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s it-“ Asami encourages.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-Does Mommy make you feel good?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She gets a grunt in response that’s followed by a guttural moan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thought so,” Asami smirks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She presses on further, curls her fingers inside of Korra and searches for all of the friction that she’s able to get; it’s not much, Korra is soaking her down to her wrist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her walls clench around Asami’s fingers. Asami briefly wonders why she had convinced herself that she didn’t miss having a woman come undone beneath her, snug, radiating warmth, whining, and refocuses herself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra is - she’s something - but Asami has a goal, and it’s to make her come, make her scream.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami gets her wish.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your name-“ Korra pleads.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-Tell me, Mommy,  I wanna moan all pretty for you, ‘wanna come”. She begs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Laughter bubbles from Asami’s chest. She’s not going to tell her. She knows it, and Asami reinforces the fact with a shake to her head , but she tries. She tries, and fails, miserably, but she does come, even without Asami’s name on her tongue like she had wanted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami pulls out slowly, and Korra gasps. She threads her fingers through Korra’s hair once more, tells Korra that she’s a good girl for the first and last time that night. It makes her shiver - there’s a sweetness, a tenderness that Asami hadn’t been expecting - and Korra presses a single kiss to Asami’s shoulder that’s closest to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No mention. Remember that,” Asami reinforces.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra rolls her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look, I’ve seen your kind before and I’ll see it again. You’re not special, baby.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They don’t speak further.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami leaves ten minutes later.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra has her cash - double, because Asami had decided that yes, she was worth it - and if both feel a tug in their chests as the door slams shut, neither mention it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami catches her ride home in a daze, but her driver doesn’t question it. He knows better, and Asami allows herself a moment; the scent of Korra strong on her fingers and red lipstick staining her collar.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Opal is wonderful, she is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s the best business partner and the closest friend that Asami’s ever had, will probably ever have. She’s talented, wise, but when Asami strides into her office the next day, the expression that glows on Opal’s face is enough to make her want to turn back around.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal smirks, all knowing, and nods politely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami walks with a renewed vigour in her step, her strides longer and posture straighter than it’s ever been. Opal didn’t think it possible; Asami’s always been confident, since the day that they met as interns, but this, this is different, and Opal’s able to spot it from a mile off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh-“ Opal beams.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-Oh, you did, didn’t you?” She asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Opal, I swear to god-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You called her,” Opal prods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami sits herself down. She claims the chair that’s tucked under the opposite side of Opal’s desk, collapses with a huff. She sits with her legs spread, elbows on her knees and chin in her palms. Opal looks at her expectantly, nudges a cup of coffee towards Asami.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sips at it gratefully - Opal knows her order off by heart, black with hazelnut, one sugar - and drains the paper cup before Opal’s crossed her legs awaitingly. Opal empties her respective cup, shrugs when a handful of minutes tick by and Asami doesn’t open her mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know why you’re putting up a front about it-“ Opal shrugs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-I know you know it’s not something to be ashamed of,” She scrutinises.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami stares her dead in the eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her phone vibrates on the desk in front of her, then, a message that tells her she has a meeting in half an hour. She knows already, of course she does - Asami is prepared like that - but the reminder makes her grunt nonetheless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re impossible, you know that?” Asami sighs, though lets her mouth twitch in something that resembles a smile.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, completely aware” Opal nods sweetly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami types out a reply, short nails tapping at the screen of her phone. She hits send, ignores the further reply that comes through before she’s able to set it down again, and reclines against the back of the chair. She mirrors Opal, crosses her legs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I called her,”  Asami confirms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal, peering across the bridge of her glasses, arches a brow. Asami tilts her head inconspicuously, shrugs her shoulders once more. Opal keeps her eyes trained on Asami’s, wants to scream at her to spit it out, tell me; she already knows but she wants Asami’s words regardless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And?” Opal prompts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I fucked her. And I liked it. End of.” Asami proclaims.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silence hangs between them, and then they’re chuckling. Asami snorts through her nose, and Opal giggles, pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose when they slip. Asami rolls her eyes, it’s becoming a habit - at herself, at Opal, at Korra - and pops a mint into her mouth from the shallow tray that Opal keeps on her desk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s refreshing, like her morning is shaping up to be despite the looming interview, and Opal looks ecstatic. She’s pleased with herself, that much is evident. Asami doesn’t want to give her the satisfaction but knows that she’s already handed it over when Opal crinkles her eyes approvingly. She stands, then twirls a tendril of Asami’s hair between two fingers before she makes a beeline for the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well-“ Opal considers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-Do you think you’ll see her again? I haven’t ever seen you this relaxed, and I’ve had the misfortune of having sex with you,” She jokes, hand on the door handle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal thinks that she’s funny.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami guesses that she is - she knows not to push their history but is able to mock it, make light of it - and Asami finds herself laughing along, trotting out of the office and into the main lobby behind her. Opal turns to face her, and Asami contemplates her answer; maybe, I don’t know, maybe, we’ll see.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, absolutely not.”  She shakes her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No?” Opal looks on in disbelief.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Risks. Too many. I might have already fucked up, who knows if she’ll breathe a word of it to anybody?” Asami mutters lowely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’re the only two people in the room, with the exception of a secretary bustling into the elevator across from them, coffee cups balanced precariously in his arms. There’s no reason to whisper, no reason to even attempt to be discreet, but Asami is cautious and Opal knows it, chooses not to call her out on the matter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure-“ Opal shrugs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-But for the record, the only thing you’re putting at risk is both of our sanities.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami is beginning to think she might be right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal, Asami decides, at some point during the following month, is right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami feels like she’s losing her mind, and Opal’s the first to notice. She always is - it’s nothing new, Asami doesn’t know what she’d been expecting - and sits Asami down at the end of a work-week in the bar that they frequent on the Upper East Side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a Saturday, crowded, and Asami drinks martini after martini, throws bill after bill in tip money at the young bartender who ogles her, adds an extra shot of gin per her request. Opal’s drinking wine, again - she makes another joke about being grape dependent, Asami still doesn’t find it funny - and is half way through the bottle before she dares bring it up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When she does, Asami fights it more than she should.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re slumping again,” Opal tells her, lips on the rim of her glass.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami grunts into her own glass, shakes her head and sets it down with a clack. Opal eyes her wearily but presses on, nods her head in retaliation. Asami doesn’t tell her that she’s right and that she could save her breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not.” Asami swears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes-“ Opal hiccups.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-Yes you are.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami is. She knows it, and Opal’s telling her that she knows it, too. Asami has a hunch that the majority of people on her team know as much, is certain that even the intern receptionist could guess if she tried hard enough. She’s tense, throwing energy that she doesn’t have left within herself into her work. It’s not healthy; Opal’s looking at her like she pities her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Does it matter if I am?” Asami tries.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal narrows her eyes. Of course it matters - they’re mid way through one of the biggest investment cases that Asami’s dealt with, ever - and neither want to jeopardise it. Opal nods her head slowly, flags down the bartender and orders Asami another drink.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She accepts wordlessly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All I’m saying is-“ Opal relents.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-Would it really hurt? You like sex, you love sex, why not just - have it? Get it out of your system.” She huffs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami’s not ready to be serious.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you offering, again?” Asami smirks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal laughs, rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Her hand comes down to tap at Asami’s wrist, delicate gold bangles sliding further up her toned arm. Opal strokes at them, and then grumbles disapprovingly, shakes her head once more in dismay.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m starting to think you’re in love with me more than yourself,” Opal banters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami plays into it. She sips at her drink whilst maintaining eye contact, bites into the olive garnish with a precise snap of her jaw.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s stupid, dumb - Opal’s a second away from cracking, Asami’s not far behind - and they’re laughing, clutching at the wood of the bar top. It’s true, partly; Asami’s not in love with Opal and never has been, but Asami’s never in all of the years that Opal’s known her been secretive about her confidence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She radiates it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know I’m messing-” Asami softens.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-I’m just not about to admit that the best sex I’ve had in years was with a call girl.” She snickers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal catches her mistake.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hate to break it to you, but you just admitted it,” Opal points out, and Asami gives up pretending.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God-“ Asami groans.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-She didn’t even touch me, not really, and I don’t even care. What does it say about me that I have her number saved to my phone, Opal?” She exasperates.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mumbling a vague Jesus Christ, Opal tops up her wine glass. She drinks half of it before she even attempts a response that comes out shaky, anyway, and turns to look at Asami at Asami with a softness that resembles empathy. She places a hand over Asami’s once more, squeezes reassuringly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It says you’re human-“ Opal nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-Oh, and that you should definitely call her again”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami all but whines out loud.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sat at her office desk the next day, Asami stares directly down at her phone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She has it placed center on the wooden surface, her messages open on the screen. Her eyes glare at it, piercing and mournful as if the message that’s hanging off of the tips of her fingers is going to type itself. It isn’t; Asami admits it to herself somewhere between her third and fourth coffee of the afternoon.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Conceding defeat isn’t something that Asami does, never has been. It’s why when she picks up said phone, scrolls to the contact simply titled K- K for Korra - it takes her a minute to focus.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal’s words are a constant in her mind, as are her own inhibitions. They play second fiddle only to her recollections of Korra’s body, her voice, her words. She’d moaned like that just for Asami, because of her, had called her Mommy and allowed her to yank on her hair in any which way, coaxing her to an orgasm that had been tight around her fingers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami crosses her legs, squeezes her thighs together at the thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wants it again, wants to see Korra again, and begins typing with her teeth nestled into her bottom lip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Asami: Hello, I don’t know if you remember my number, but I saw you a month or so ago and want to see you again. As soon as possible, preferably</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She reads over it and reads over it - it sounds too formal, maybe, not direct enough, possibly - but she’s pressed send on impulse before she’s able to second guess herself. She makes a decision and sticks to it, exhales all of the breath within her lungs when her phone tells her that the message has been delivered.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Busying herself, Asami browses the inbox of her emails. There’s nothing that interests her, but she scrolls anyway, skims over files and folders that have been sent to her; they detail cases and investments but Asami doesn’t care for them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She clicks out of them as soon as her phone chimes in reply.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Korra: Hey you! I remember, I saved your number. Hottie in the power suit who wouldn’t tell me her name and paid my rent for the next couple of months, right?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Asami: That’s me, probably, unless you get some similar clients. You had my number saved?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Korra: Knew you’d wanna come back, baby. Call it a feeling ;)</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Call it a feeling, Asami laughs aloud. Call it a feeling, she had said, and Asami wants to agree. She does agree, though doesn’t have a response prepared, tenses in her chair until Korra’s messaging, again, taking the pressure off of Asami like it’s her job.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It is her job.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Korra: So you wanna see me again?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Asami: Yes</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Korra: Same as last time?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Asami: I think so. Same place would work. Same time, if you can. I might stay longer</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She might. It’s been a possibility that she’s toyed with throughout the last weeks, the days that have built up to Opal convincing her to call again, her own needs telling her to text, to message, anything. She wants to tell Korra as much, tell her that she just wants to make her come, unashamedly, but her pride gets in the way and Asami wants the ground to swallow her whole.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Asami: It’s been a rough month</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Korra: I’m sure we can do something about that. We’ll sort you right out, don’t you worry. I can do tomorrow, if you’re up for it? I can clear my schedule for a girl like you</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s at a loss for words. It doesn’t happen, it just doesn’t - Asami’s frustrated, her thumbs feel like they’ve turned to stone -  and she’s typing out a shorter response than she’s opted for thus far. It seems only fitting; there’s a relief that’s lifted from her chest, and no need for more than the details that she deems essential.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s how she likes it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Asami: Ok</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Asami: I’ll text you the room number</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra doesn’t send anything back, but reads the message and Asami knows it's a good sign.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She floats through the remainder of her day with ease.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s like deja vu.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami arrives at the hotel first, stands stationary in the center of the room until Korra shows her face. She’s earlier, this time, five minutes or so, and when Asami pays her the first half of their agreed amount she thanks her with a kiss to her cheek and a tug on her arm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Knew I’d see you again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you just a genius.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She lets Asami fuck her, hard into the mattress like she can tell that Asami needs. Asami is grateful that she keeps the conversation to a minimum, unsure if she could stomach anything more. It’s a rhythm that she falls back into with ease, Asami’s good at this; She makes Korra come once on her hands and knees, again on her back with her hands in Asami’s hair, and a third time up against the wall.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re ‘gonna make me come again.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Good, come for Mommy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami logs that it’s a sight worth savouring.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wants Korra under her, on her, and gets her wish when Korra’s coming down from her fifth, sixth orgasm. She spreads herself out atop of Asami, slots their legs together. Asami’s wet against her leg through her underwear, though neither mention it. Asami called her to get Korra off, not the other way around, and both knew it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, just let me touch you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami likes the power, and wants to hold onto it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Will hold onto it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra looks up at her from where her chin rests on Asami’s chest. She begins grinding against Asami’s hip bone, her thigh, strong and muscular, and groans outwardly. Asami grins, lifts a limp hand to pinch at Korra’s nipple that’s closest to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She whines into Asami’s neck - and Asami wants to kiss her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not a revelation. She’d thought about it the first time and she’s certain that she’s going to keep thinking about it. She has half a mind to ask, draw Korra’s lips to her own, but she knows the rules, and isn’t about to abuse them, not with Korra pliant and wanting against her body.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Next time, she convinces, next time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Kiss my neck.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? You need to come again?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami curses at herself for thinking there will be a next time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra’s staring her dead in the eyes, still, mouth parted. Her hair is matted, dampened with sweat and stuck to her shoulders. Asami peals it away for her, glides her fingertips across her protruding collarbones. Korra grins, and then moans, clenches both of her thighs down around one of Asami’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You still need to tell me your name,” Korra whines.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami admires her perseverance.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think Mommy’s fine for now, don’t you?” Asami drawls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She cranes her neck, then, swirls her tongue around Korra’s nipple and draws it into her mouth. She sucks on it with vigour - the added pleasure has Korra’s hips bucking, she’s coming - and doesn’t relent until Korra collapses. She lands with her limbs spread out, tucked into Asami’s side; it doesn’t cross Asamis mind to tell her to leave until she catches sight of the time on her watch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Korra,” Asami nudges her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” She’s tired, fucked out, and is making Asami feel things.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I need to go,” Asami mutters, detaches herself from Korra’s grip.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nodding her head, Korra stretches. She kicks away the ruffled bed sheets, makes a half hearted attempt at detangling her hair. It’s futile, Asami chuckles lowly at the sight, and she watches with dazed eyes as Asami pulls on her clothes. There are lipstick stains on her collar again and Korra is proud to have put them there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami is happy that she put them there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re busy, hm?” Korra arches an eyebrow, receives an affirmative nod.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’d stay longer, but I have to be up early tomorrow,” Asami crosses the room to perch on the edge of the bed once more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She lifts her hand, gently, brushes a thumb tenderly across the high point of Korra’s cheek. It’s soft, more than she had expected, and she’s leaning into the touch, Asami’s mouth upturning in a satisfied simper at the sight unfolding before her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stay here, overnight. Get some rest-” Asami tells her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-You deserve it.” She means it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra sighs, relieved at the words that greet her ears.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to come see me sooner next time? A month is a long time, baby,” Korra teases.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami freezes with her hand in her pocket, scattering dollar bills akin to rose petals on the mattress next to Korra’s body. She leaves them there - Korra nods in recognition, it goes unspoken - and stands abruptly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Next week?” Asami’s back to being blunt, Korra notices the switch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I look forward to it,” Korra confirms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door slams between them for the second time, but the statement reigns true. Korra looks forward to it, and Asami -</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami does too.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>happy holidays everybody!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>If Opal notices the change in Asami’s demeanour the following morning, she says nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She says nothing, nothing at all, for the next three times that Asami meets with Korra. And then there’s a fourth time, where all she offers is a smirk. Asami understands then that she doesn’t need to say anything because Opal already knows, and knows that Asami knows, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal continues not to say a word until Asami’s over a month into her meetings with Korra. She calls Asami into her office at the end of the work week, six o’clock on a Friday having shown up, left, doused them with a sense of calm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finally.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami collapses in the chair opposite Opal’s desk, sits with her legs spread, already clutching the glass of wine between her fingers that Opal had pre-poured, set out just for Asami. They clink their glasses against one and others, Opal mutters a cheers, and Asami doesn’t respond.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hate wine,” Asami grunts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She drains her glass.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Opal nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami smiles softly, content. It’s so typically Opal that she doesn’t have a reply ready, and she settles for narrowing her eyes instead. Opal eyes her suspiciously, she still doesn’t say a word about what Asami knows is clawing at her skin; it’s becoming a habit, a lot more goes unsaid between them than it has before.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So why is it all I get to drink whenever I’m in your office?” Asami bites.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal tops up Asami’s glass. Asami cradles it to her chest, and sips at it with a scrunched up nose. There’s a lot that she’s picky about in life but decides that alcohol shouldn’t be one of them - it’ll get her drunk, it’s fine - and gulps it down. She can feel her throat burning and her chest warming from the inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The same reason I only ever get given whisky when I’m in yours,” Opal retaliates.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami regards her with a raised eyebrow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Touché.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They make their way through half of the bottle before the hours up. Opal feels dizzy, Asami a little hazy. Both lost track of the email that they were meant to be discussing somewhere between their third glasses and Opal minimising the window on her computer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t care for it. Work is - it’s too much. Asami’s grown to loathe it, has resigned herself to simply a name. Opal works with her but works for her, really, and informs Asami of only what she needs to whilst Asami sits mute throughout meetings, spends her time in her office scrolling menially through her phone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Social media irritates her, work drains her and life bores her. Asami tells Opal as much and watches the realisation dawn on her face. It’s not like Opal hadn’t known, Asami convinces herself. She must have - Opal’s not oblivious, she knows how Asami works - but she’s looking over at her with pity, remorse, guilt; she’s all out of ideas.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The only time that Asami looks like Asami anymore is the morning following her brief nights at The Dominick, and Opal is more than aware that Korra can’t solve Asami’s problems but she suggests it anyway. Asami looks at her like she’s not insane, for once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re still seeing her, right? How’s that going?” Opal asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami is honest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It helps-“ She nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-I’m seeing her tonight.” Asami confirms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal had her suspicions. Asami carries herself differently, in the lead up. She walks with her shoulders hunched and her feet close together, wears heels that make less of a sharp clunk than her usual stilettos. Asami thinks she’s discreet, but Opal catches her, like she always has, and hums along to Asami’s words.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well-“ Opal shrugs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-Never tell me my ideas aren’t useful.” She beams.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It makes Asami laugh, really laugh. She cackles, catches the wine glass that threatens to slip from her hands akin to her patience, clatter to the floor. Opal leans across the desk that’s a barrier between them, clutches Asami’s arm and giggles along. Asami doesn’t say much more before she leaves, has her driver take her to the usual hotel, but she thinks it, and it’s enough for Opal, for now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s thankful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra doesn’t contest when Asami asks for an earlier time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They both turn up at seven, walk through the lobby of the hotel and check in side by side. Korra follows Asami's heels into the elevator, brushes past her in a cloud of peonies and perfume. Asami instinctively leans closer; Korra’s on the same page, doesn’t bat an eyelid when she’s nudging Asami in acknowledgment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami smiles down at her, exits the elevator and strides onto their floor ahead of Korra. She swipes them into the room with her key card, sets down her bag on the armchair that greets her. Korra doesn’t carry a bag, hasn’t done so since Asami’s known her, and instead opts for shedding her coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s wearing a short sleeved T-shirt dress beneath said coat, this time. It’s short and see through, and Asami’s still able to make out the outline of her lingerie beneath, but she looks comfortable. The soft smile that reaches her eyes tells Asami that she is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra has her arms around Asami’s waist, pulling and pulling and pulling. Asami doesn’t fight it, smiles softly down at her. She’s looking up at Asami with a smile that’s soft and eyes that are softer, pressing herself up on her toes to drop a kiss to Asami’s cheek.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami receives it with a tender smile of her own, tightens her arms around Korra’s frame. She winds her hands into the fabric of Korra’s shirt, curls her fingers into her hips. Korra lets Asami do it, encouraging her with a nod of her head. Asami hums, and does it, Korra’s breath hot on her neck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s warm, and makes her shiver.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How’ve you been?” Korra mumbles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looks up at Asami from beneath her lashes, fluttering against her under eyes, and Asami’s jaw goes slack. She doesn’t have the words, doesn’t have the thoughts, and settles for shrugging. Korra can feel the tension that’s mounted in her shoulders and it’s too much, far too much; Korra’s walking Asami backwards until her knees are buckling to sit in the high backed armchair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sit-“ Korra tells her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-We’re gonna talk.” She asserts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t argue, no matter how much she wants to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra straddles her like it’s second nature to her - Asami guesses that maybe it is between them, at this point - and settles her thighs atop of Asami’s. Asami runs her own hands from Korra’s knees to her waist, settles them there. Korra frowns, eyebrows furrowed, and Asami outstretches an arm to smooth out the creases.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Korra-“ Asami clears her throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-I don’t do talking.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra blinks, slowly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tough.” She responds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But I have your money in my-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I said tough-“ Korra hushes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-Pay me later, I don’t give a fuck. Why do you look like you have the weight of the world and Jupiter sitting on your shoulder pads?” She chuckles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They laugh, both of them, but the concern doesn’t leave Korra’s eyes. She brushes her fingers through Asami’s hair that isn’t meticulously styled, for once, tucks it behind her ears. Asami flinches at the feeling of Korra’s short nails scratching behind her ears, and Korra gauges her reaction, drags her fingers lower.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Work-“ Asami exhales.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-I’m not getting into it.” She shakes her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra looks contemplative.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to-“ She starts, understanding.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-Stressful, hm?” Korra cocks her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hands come to rest on Asami's shoulders, then press down at them until Asami relaxes as much as Korra thinks she’s capable of. She slumps her body, lolls her head, and Korra’s telling her to take off her blazer. She doesn’t dispute it, unhooks it with a relieved sigh, drops it to the floor; Korra circles the top button of Asami’s shirt with the tip of a finger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This your outlet?” Korra guesses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t meant to be. It shouldn’t be. Asami didn’t think it was until she’d found herself telling Opal that it helps. It does - it helps more than Asami’s able to convey with a single nod of her head - and Korra doesn’t push it further. She purses her lips and smiles, Asami’s hands working their way beneath her shirt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One nestled into the small of Korra’s back and the other palming her hip, Asami sighs, sits up straighter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s - yes.” Asami nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok-“ Korra accepts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-That’s - ok.” She breathes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami thinks that it might be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not complaining, you’re good.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop talking.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She has Korra backed against the wall, one leg wrapped around her waist. Korra’s shirt is lying somewhere, as are her bra and panties, and Asami relishes in the feeling of skin on skin, Korra’s nails skimming her shoulder blades. She’s already worked herself out of her suit, her underwear, and feels the heat pooling between her thighs with each kiss that Korra presses to her neck, her collarbones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’re printed with red.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a picture or lust and want, anger and frustration. It's a convolution of need, passion, and Asami wants all of it. Korra blinks slowly, whines as her hardening nipples brush against Asami’s; a glance at her twisted facial expression tells Asami all that she needs to know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Scratch harder,” Asami grunts, hand snaking between their bodies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? You like that?” Korra’s breath hitches.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Be quiet,” She growls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not what she means. She doesn’t want Korra to be quiet, ever, wants Korra’s moans and her whimpers, her whines and her cries to continue infinitely. Asami counts herself lucky when Korra doesn’t pay an ounce of attention to her and continues to ramble aimlessly, pushing her hips down onto Asami’s hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami grazes her teeth against the pulse point of Korra’s neck, and sucks lightly. No marks still rings like an alarm bell in her head, as does no kissing no kissing no kissing on the lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra makes it hard.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her mouth parts, filthily angelic when Asami curls two fingers inside of her. She whines aloud, tilts her head back so that it bumps against the wall behind her. Asami keeps her propped up, a strong hand cupping the back of one thigh, the other nestled between her legs. She keeps hooking her fingers, the heel of her hand rubbing up against Korra’s clit; Korra’s eyes are blown, but her nails dig and it hurts and Asami loves it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She can feel Korra tightening around her, and Korra’s hands are migrating to her hair. She manoeuvres Asami until they’re face to, presses the fingers of one hand into her cheek. Asami offers her an encouraging smile that feels too soft, too vulnerable, and she bumps their noses together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m so close.” Korra tugs once at her hair, locks their eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami cracks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want to kiss you-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-Please let me kiss you.”  She breathes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra’s eyes widen briefly, but then she’s moaning, nodding, pressing her own lips to Asami’s cheek first. It’s not what Asami’s means and Korra knows it; she’s whispering her own wishes into the room, and Asami can barely hear them above the sounds of her fingers pumping inside of her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just tell me your name-“ Korra swallows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami does.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She mumbles it against Korra’s lips, breathes it out languidly. She lets it caress the curl of Korra’s grin, and then they’re kissing and Korra’s coming around her fingers, and Asami doesn’t ever want it back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra keeps her name, mumbles it back to her as she clenches hot and dripping. It becomes a prayer, recited as if it were holy - Korra has the nerve to look at her like it is - but they’re kissing and Asami allows her eyes to slip closed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She withdraws her fingers, glides them back up Korra’s body that’s relaxed against hers. She pinches at her nipple with them, once, draws a squeak from her breathless lungs. Korra chuckles when she pulls away, Asami’s fingers wet around her waist, and grins.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You told me.” Korra softens.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her leg drops to the floor. She stands, shakily, keeps herself braced against Asami’s body, sturdy and grounded, for the most part. Asami stutters nervously, though finds herself nodding her head; Korra’s pulling her by her hand over to the bed, draping herself akin to silk atop of her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’re still kissing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami feels numb with it, and doesn't think Korra’s fairing much better. She looks down at Asami with an awe that had spread itself out through Asami’s bones the first time Korra had pressed her lips to her skin. It’s an awe that still hasn’t left, and Asami thinks that she’ll be ok if it never does when Korra’s there, kissing and kissing and kissing her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re too much.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is this ok? We can stop.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Asami, no, don’t ‘wanna stop.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why’re you letting me kiss you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want you to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra has an arm and a leg thrown across Asami’s body, the duvet cover tucked beneath their chins. It’s cold outside but warm where they are, limbs entangled.  Asami strokes a thumb over the muscle of Korra’s shoulder, centers her focus on the warmth of Korra’s head against her chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami’s heard her phone chime twice in the past ten minutes, and if Korra’s heard it then she doesn’t think it’s important.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It isn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Asami.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh - no, I just wanted to say it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami steals kisses like they’re second nature, and Korra gives them to her without asking, with no restraint. She lets Asami make her come again, and again, until it’s dark outside and the bedside lamp is switched on. Their skin glows yellow and orange, gold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So-“ Korra starts, smirk forming.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-I know your name, will you tell me what you do, now?” She asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a curiosity that’s taken over her. Asami is just, Asami. She’s Asami, who wears power suits and has dark silky hair. Asami, whose name she didn’t know until a matter of hours ago and Asami, who dribbles money from her pockets like it’s water.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra knows not to question things. She doesn’t question her parents, and doesn’t question why Asami treats her like she does, with humility and kindness, albeit at a distance. She doesn’t question the weather, either, but she questions this, and it’s a start.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami does question things. She questions why and how and when, but she doesn’t trust the responses. She believes facts, not feelings, but the intensity that harbours itself in Korra’s eyes is enough to make her want to try. Asami doesn’t trust, but thinks that Korra might be truthful, and it’s a start.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Probably.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do finance, investing, dealing with donors. All of the above.” Asami summarizes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra nods slowly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You rolling with the big bosses?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m one of them.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra doesn’t look surprised, and Asami assumes it’s because she’s not. Far from it. Asami’s able to remember some of Korra’s first words to her - I’ve seen your kind before and I’ll see it again, you aren’t anything special, baby - and they ring in her ears, bells that are piercing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s your last name?” Korra tries.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t expect a response but Asami gives her one.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sato.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra laughs bitterly, stiffens against Asami’s side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s always you fancy types, more money than they know what to do with but can’t just hook up with somebody like normal people.” She bites.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t know what to do with the information. This is Korra’s job - Asami knows just from talking to her that she’s seen the ins and outs of people's pockets and personal lives - but it doesn’t quell the sting in her chest. She averts her gaze, stares at the beige of the walls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Risks, you should know that.” Asami settles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra does know that, and it makes it worse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can I ask you something, too?” Asami adds, an afterthought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra gives a short hum.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why do you do this?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The intrigue hangs heavy between them. Asami thinks she struggles to breathe for the seconds that trudge by. Korra props herself up on her elbow, peers down into Asami’s eyes with a frown. She flicks her hair over her shoulders, tucks Asami’s own behind her ears and licks across her lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Because I want to?” Korra smirks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not an answer that Asami could have predicted. She scrunches her eyes closed as they both laugh, Korra settling back into Asami’s side. She places a kiss to her neck, delicate and promising, and it’s all Asami can do to not release the tears that are building in the corners of her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you happy?” Asami checks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra smiles, nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She is.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami fights away the no that she wants to answer with.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami stays until morning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s the first time that it happens, and she awakens to Korra placing a fresh mug of coffee down onto the bedside table beside her. It’s earthy, fills her nostrils, and Korra is a rock when she slips back under the still warm sheets besides her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami feels her throat constricting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mornin’-” Korra mumbles, nestles herself back into Asami’s side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-What are you doing awake? It’s only seven, you’ve got time to sleep.” She reassures.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami can’t breathe. She shakes her head, pulls Korra closer, mumbles no. She can never sleep past eight, on a good day, her body clock is wired for long work days, and thanks Korra for the coffee with a kiss on her forehead. If she focuses hard enough, Korra becomes her oxygen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How long have you been up?” Asami frowns.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shrugging, Korra switches positions, slots herself on her stomach between Asami’s legs. Asami spreads them for her, allowing Korra to rest her chin on her chest, hair tickling at her ribs. Korra grins and lifts a hand to tame Asami’s eyebrows that have shifted overnight.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Long enough to know you talk in your sleep.” Korra winks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shut up, I do not,” Asami chuckles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only she does, and Korra knows after sleeping next to her once. Asami has to stop herself from choking on the panic that rises in her chest, pours out of her lips. Korra is still naked, as is Asami, and it takes every fiber of her concentration to keep her hands on Korra’s back, not travel lower; Korra’s looking at her like she wouldn’t complain if they did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Liar.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t correct her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra kisses at her chest, then, trails delicate pecks down to her sternum. She kisses there, too, and then lower, lower still, and by the time that she reaches Asami’s navel, Asami has to halt her. She does so with a hand on her cheek, and Korra blinks up at her with wide eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What-“ Asami clears her throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-What are you doing?” Her voice comes out scratchy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Will you let me?” Korra blinks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her eyelashes brush against the pad of Asami’s thumb that strokes unwittingly, and Korra leans into the touch. She continues kissing up and around Asami’s hip bones, grazing her teeth across them. She watches the goosebumps bloom on Asami’s thighs and gets her answer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You want to-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Korra interrupts, fingers ghosting across Asami’s inner thighs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami watches her control slip, but doesn’t make an attempt to reign it back in. She tells Korra yes, yes, and Korra tells her that she’ll go slow. She does, true to her word, and maybe Asami cries when she comes, maybe she doesn’t, but Korra is there afterwards, allowing her the space she needs to laugh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s ridiculous.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re good at that,” Asami pants.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s my job, of course I am.” Korra hooks her leg across Asami’s waist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s her job. Of course she is. It’s her job; Asami’s reminded of the fact when she hands the money over an hour before check out, watches Korra accept it tentatively.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra’s doing her job, and Asami’s heart wrenches a little, lurches out of the door when Korra leaves. It’s her job, she repeats to herself, and she has rules.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I say stop, you listen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You say stop, I listen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No kissing on the lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No marks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Leave by checkout the next day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’re rules that she breaks for Asami -</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>- And Asami dares to hope it’s a good sign.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank you all so much for your feedback! enjoy :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t believe in coincidences.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The word itself doesn’t exist to her, neither does the notion. She’s told Opal on many occasions that nothing slots together just because, and that each action amounts to a cause and effect. Opal talks about fate and destiny and the universe aligning, but Asami disagrees. There’s not a god that she could worship that would make her think otherwise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She brushes off chance encounters with forgotten faces as just that. Something being a coincidence doesn’t even cross her mind when she claims to speak things into existence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Having found herself working alongside Opal - friend, confidant, right hand woman - is not a coincidence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Rain on the first day of summer is not a coincidence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And if rain on the first day of summer isn’t a coincidence, then neither is snow in April.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Discovering that the company's new intern makes better coffee than the chain down the street isn’t a coincidence, either; Asami jokes that it’s a blessing if it’ll keep Opal from feebly swatting a hand at her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t believe in coincidences. She doesn’t, but when Opal tells her that she looks lighter, happier, ever since her meetings with Korra, that’s exactly what Asami calls it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know you’re walking around here like a changed woman, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your point?” Asami answers in a deadpan tone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t have one, really. Korra, though?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Again, your point?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A coincidence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s been another month. Asami’s spent it reserving her Friday nights exclusively for Korra, Saturday mornings that become blurry and Sunday’s that she recaps with Opal at their frequented bar. It means that Asami strolls into work on Monday with a headache that’s a ghost of a hangover more often than not, sits cradling cups of coffee throughout her briefings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know I’m not letting this go.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Letting what go, Opal?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Korra. You. You and Korra.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal chastises her for it, with each glass of wine and martini that they continue to swig. It’s why when another week rolls around, and Asami’s sitting in her office with her thumb hovering over Korra’s contact, she groans audibly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She can hear Opal’s voice in her head - it’s there more often than it’s not - telling her about investors and dealers and finance that they can but can’t afford to mess up. There are whispers of meetings and boardrooms and presentations that Asami doesn’t care for; the weight of the aggravation pushes on her thumb and she’s pressing the screen of her phone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami is calling Korra.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The shrill ringing fills the hollow expanse of her office. Asami turns off the speaker and presses the phone to her ear, balances it between her shoulder and cheek. She’s halfway to rethinking her decision and cancelling the call when she picks up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra picks up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is it Friday already?” Korra jokes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami wishes that it was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s Tuesday, but correct me if I’m wrong.” Asami banters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hears Korra snort. She slumps in her chair, uncrosses her legs, picks up the half empty cup of coffee from her desk. Asami sips at it, awaiting Korra’s response. It comes in the form of a breathy chuckle and Asami digs her nails into the styrofoam.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m kidding, everything okay Sami?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami wants to tell her yes. She wants to tell Korra that she’s doing great as much as she wants to tell Opal. She wants to yell at the both of them from the rafters but is worried that what’ll leave her mouth will betray her. She wants to be good -</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>- But she’s not.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have a meeting tomorrow, and I need to know before I ask you anything else if you’d even consider coming to my office.” She states.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The silence is heavy between them, only broken by Korra clicking her tongue against her teeth. She’s still chuckling lowely, as if Asami is funny, and hums nonchalantly. Asami taps the point of her heel against the leg of her desk in anticipation, places the cup of coffee back down onto the surface of said desk; she knows she’s seconds away from puncturing it with her fingertips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Oh, you want,” Korra realises.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“At your office?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t that risky?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami sighs, crosses her legs once more. Korra taps her fingers against the shell of her phone and Asami’s able to hear it through the line. She has half a mind to hell her to stop before Korra does it on her own accord. Asami exhales in relief, tunes into Korra’s breathing that’s heavy, laboured.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If that’s too much then,” Asami fixes herself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No!” Korra immediately interjects. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I - I can do that,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t believe her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Korra-” Asami soothes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She catches herself. Her tone is too tender, too soft. Asami doesn’t do tender or soft, rarely does affection or empathy. She doesn’t do them, but Korra plants the feelings in her gut, tends to them until they grow, bloom from her lips. Asami doesn’t know what to do with the information when her heart thuds, skips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Forget I ever said anything if,” Asami trails off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra swallows, and Asami hears it. They’re both tentative, and it’s another emotion that Asami doesn’t do, usually. She’s frowning at herself in the reflection of her computer screen, lists forming in her mind. Asami is harsh, definitive, stoic, a stark contrast to the generosity which she wants to smother Korra with.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hands are back on the coffee cup.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not it,” Korra interrupts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami feels the dams within her break.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t expect that from you,” Korra admits.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami remains silent, pensive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I had you down as someone that kept business and pleasure separate. I don’t know. I’ll do it, of course I will, but I’m not about to pretend I’m not surprised. Are you sure about this? Fuck, Asami, you wouldn’t even tell me your name a month ago and now,“ Korra huffs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami interjects, nails piercing through the styrofoam.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And now I know what I want.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If Asami is still one thing, it’s certain. She tells Korra as much in the seconds that follow wordlessly. Whether Korra understands entirely or not doesn’t matter, and if Korra has questions she doesn’t ask them. Asami knows what she wants, and Korra wants to give it to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And what is that, exactly?” Korra grins.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All of you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everything that you deserve.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>More than I can give you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami clears her throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You, in my office, ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Wear something not so obvious. Can you do that?” Asami bites.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hears a hum and then nothing matters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Text me the address.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami already has her hand on the door handle when she hears Korra’s voice approaching.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She introduces herself to Asami’s secretary, reciting the words Asami had spoon fed her. They suit her well - each syllable flows off of Korra’s tongue like she had crafted them herself - and Asami’s able to picture the expressions on both Korra’s and her secretary’s faces before she cranks open the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Top floor. Ask for Sato, I’ll be in room one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have a secretary or something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, actually.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course you do. Ten o’clock?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami pushes down on the door handle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She steps out, heels sturdy against the marble tiles. Korra’s neck cranes at the sight of her in her peripheral vision, eyes trailing once up the length of her body. Asami’s dressed differently; her pencil skirt and short sleeved blouse are enough to startle Korra, cause her to search for her usual power suit that’s become a regularity.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ms. Sato!” Her secretary interrupts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have Ms.-”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Korra,” Korra clarifies.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-Ms. Korra here for her ten o’clock?” The secretary arches an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami nods shortly. She looks approvingly at Korra, dressed appropriately, true to her word. Her pants and blazer are navy blue, bottoms of her shoes red, matching Asami’s blouse.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She commands her way into Asami’s office, and Asami holds the door open, tilts her head in thanks towards her secretary. Said secretary smirks in response, and if she notices the hint of Korra’s bra peeking through above her neckline then she says nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s a wise choice.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Contrarily, it’s the first thing that Asami comments on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How did you know the blue was my favorite on you?” Asami teases.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She walks Korra backwards to her desk, allowing her to perch on the edge of it. Korra looks every bit the part - Asami wouldn’t question her if she saw her stalking around the building - and Asami thinks that she knows it when she crosses her legs, tugs Asami closer by the collar of her shirt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You aren’t discreet,” Korra taunts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami gives her the satisfaction, briefly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, Ms. Korra,” Asami emphasises.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra looks at her with eyes that are bright, wanting, and laughs into Asami’s space.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t tell me that front desk girl would ask for my fucking life story!” Korra chuckles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She had me thinking I would need forty five forms of photo ID before you showed up,” She dramatizes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami places her hands either side of Korra’s waist. She keeps herself balanced there, lets Korra hook her ankles at the small of her back, and leans further into her. Korra plants her hands on Asami’s shoulders, the thin silk of her blouse shifting, twisting. Asami can feel whatever had been left of her patience dripping away, gliding in drops of rain against the window behind them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about her,” Asami mumbles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s getting closer and closer and Korra doesn’t stop her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She’s just doing her job. Are you still sure about this?” She checks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra doesn’t have to respond, doesn’t have to do anything, but Asami is grateful that she does. She nods her head affirmatively, winds her hands in Asami’s hair that brushes the top of her spine. Korra tugs lightly, draws Asami nearer and flicks her tongue across her top lip in anticipation. Asami’s eyes flicker downwards and bile rises in her throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s too much, not enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t know what she had been thinking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” Korra reassures.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami could stop all of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She could tell Korra that she’s sorry, apologize, and mean it for once. She could be nothing but contrite and have Korra walking out of her office in the suit that she wants rid of, a smile still settled upon her face. She could, and knows it. She could, she repeats to herself, Korra’s breath hot against her cheek. The wood of the desk creaks beneath them and, god, she could -</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>- But Korra’s lips are on hers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’re kissing, hot and slow. Asami doesn’t fight the anguish that overtakes her when Korra’s lips mould with hers, tongue barely grazing her bottom lip. She relaxes into it, ignores everything within her that screams, bellows, no no no, no.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra’s hands are in her hair, on her back, peeling away her clothes and Asami wants to die.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She also wants to make Korra come.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So she does.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And if her chest clenches at the sight of Korra when she sheds her suit, so be it. If her gut twists when she pulls Korra to straddle her on her office chair, then that’s just how it has to be. Asami doesn’t have enough hours in the day for the doubts that rise like smoke from her lungs when Korra’s kissing her, still.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because if Asami’s letting her defences fall, she decides, she’s glad it’s for her, for Korra.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra comes, Asami’s fingers working at her clit and thighs clamping down around Asami’s waist. She moans into Asami’s neck, leaving mark after mark because the rules are for Asami, not her; somewhere in the back of her mind she’s wondering how long it’ll be before she breaks another rule just for her, for Asami.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Neither think it’ll be as soon as a handful of minutes later when the roles reverse, and Korra slips a hand between their bodies. She hikes up Asami’s skirt, pushes her panties to the side and curls her fingers until Asami’s whining, groaning into her ear. Korra has her on the brink of losing her mind when she tells Asami to bite harder, her tongue a flame against her collarbones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You want me to,” Asami looks at Korra. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Yeah.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra’s confirmation is brief, but it’s all of the consent that Asami needs. She paints red and purple across her chest, watches branches of blood vessels extend and buds of flowers shed their petals. She comes at the sight of it, Korra’s lips back on hers as she heaves in breaths that don’t come, at first.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She pants into Korra’s skin, sweat trickling back into her hairline. Asami’s thankful for Korra’s weight atop of her, grounding and present as her muscles relax; she imagines she’d be evaporating into dust if it wasn’t for the arms looped around her shoulders.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Asami,“ Korra breathes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami sniffs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re crying.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami lifts a hand - it’s bizarre, Korra’s right - wipes away a tear that streaks her makeup. Korra’s hand is there, too, padding so gently that Asami wants to cry harder, heavier. She’s certain that she would if it wasn’t for the clock on the wall with its second hand that she swears taunts her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,”  Asami hiccups.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shit, sorry,” She collects herself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Asami.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,”  Asami repeats herself again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop apologizing, you’re good, it’s ok.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s ok it’s ok it’s ok.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t apologize, doesn’t do feelings, except when she does.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra’s hands are on her face, cupping her cheeks, patting away tears that continue to fall sporadically. She kisses at the tracks of mascara that they leave, and Asami does cry harder, sobs into Korra’s shoulder as she strokes through her hair. Her breathing is labored but Korra doesn’t press her; she holds her close until the clock has ticked over the hour and Asami has pieced herself back together.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I got mascara on your bra,”  Asami mutters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth and Korra doesn’t miss it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You got a couple of bruises on me too but I’m not mad,” Korra beams.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s an attempt to calm Asami’s still trembling hands that make their ways to Korra’s waist, and it works, for the most part. Asami huffs out a chuckle, shrugs noncommittally, grimaces as her eyes focus back on the marks adorning Korra’s chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t have done that,” Asami’s eyes are wide.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I asked for it, it’s all good,” Korra notes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s a lot we shouldn’t have done,” She adds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But we have.” Asami sighs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We have,“ Korra agrees.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And that’s all good, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’re silent as they stand, readjust their clothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra buttons Asami’s shirt for her, ghosts her finger across the top button. Asami slips Korra’s blazer onto her arms for her, too, hooks the front and covers all traces of Korra’s bra, this time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Keep your head down on the way out, my secretary won’t notice.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She seemed pretty observant to me.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then walk quickly, don’t say a word.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her chest is a battleground of want and lust but neither mention it as Asami reaches for a scarf that she keeps in her desk drawer. She ties it gently around Korra’s neck, drapes it across her décolletage and tucks it beneath her lapels. Korra smiles, strains out a thank you; Asami balances her hands on Korra’s waist, keeps her thumbs hooked in Korra’s belt loops.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You keep that for emergencies, hm?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You could say that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll give it back to you next time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra feels too far away even though they’re inches apart. Asami wants to tell Korra about each and every thought that’s circulating her mind akin to the pattern of butterflies on the scarf that’s wrapped around Korra’s neck. She contemplates doing so until Korra presses a barely there kiss to her cheek.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Here,” Korra tries.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She hands Asami a scrap of paper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s my actual number,” She offers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami takes the paper tentatively, takes in the messy scrawl. Korra’s number is there, signed by Korra. Asami places it onto her desk with a delicacy that softens the frown upon Korra’s forehead. Korra kisses her again, and Asami melts. It’s the middle of fall and is getting colder outside but Asami’s never felt warmer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Text me,” Korra nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If you ever ‘wanna just talk, or call me, I don’t care. I’m pretty free these days,” She chuckles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hands drop to her sides, and then they’re not touching. They’re even further apart but Asami still feels Korra’s skin against hers through the eye contact that she maintains. It’s burning, searing; Asami takes a step towards the door and Korra follows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Asami cocks an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra challenges it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know you’ve been single handedly paying my bills and then some for the past couple of months, right? I can’t remember the last time I saw another client,”  Korra huffs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I-,” Asami comes to a halt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra lacks the patience to allow Asami to finish.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you that loaded that you forget how much you give me?” She snickers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I just,” Asami pauses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought you’d spend some on yourself,”  She confesses.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra looks up at her like she’s unreadable. Asami guesses that she might be. She puts up a front and Korra tears it down, shreds it with her bare hands, but Asami doesn’t miss the fear in her eyes. Asami doesn’t doubt that she doesn't fail to mirror them. She’s scared, terrified, and is certain that her palms are sweating. She wipes them against her skirt for good measure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not a penny more than I need to,” Korra shrugs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She takes another step backwards, and Asami’s shaking her head in disbelief. She’s retrieving a wad of cash from the safe beneath her desk, tucks it mutely into Korra’s pocket on her short walk back across the room. Her heels clack with each stride.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Treat yourself, for me,” She nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her hand comes to rest atop of Korra’s that clutches said pocket. Her fingers twitch beneath Asami’s touch and it’s all Asami can do to stop herself from pulling Korra back in. Korra’s looking at her like she’s on the same page and Asami’s chest has never felt tighter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re insane, Sami,” Korra chuckles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She steps back into Asami’s space for the last time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The offers are still there, y’know? Text me if you need me. I mean it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t doubt her, and when the kiss goodbye that Korra plants on her lips hurts more than it ever has, Asami doesn’t complain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She deserves it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal finds out, and Asami doesn’t mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She waltzes into Asami’s office minutes after Korra leaves, sits down in the chair opposite Asami’s desk and pours herself a tumbler of whiskey from the minibar. She drinks half of it down with a wince before she attempts conversation, slides the bottle across the desk to Asami who swings straight from it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That was her, wasn’t it?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami shrugs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re screwed, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami shrugs again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is your fault.” Asami grunts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s joking and Opal knows it but the statement reigns true. Opal had suggested a call girl, had given Asami K’s card and number. It had been Opal’s idea to see her for a second time, and a third and a fourth, too. It had been Opal’s idea, all of it, But Opal had never once hinted at forming the dynamic that she has with Korra. Asami can’t blame her for that, no matter how hard she tries.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal regards her carefully.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re in love with her,” Opal narrows her eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami shakes her head, tells Opal to keep her voice down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not in love with her.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But you could be?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami contemplates it, nods her head. The realisation doesn’t shock her but it does unsettle her. She twists in her chair, takes another sip from the bottle of whiskey that’s growing sweaty in her hands. She sets it down onto her desk, knows that she’s seconds away from letting it slip accidentally, and turns to Opal with pursed lips. Opal’s already looking back at her with sympathy and Asami wishes she wasn’t looking at her at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to talk about it,” Asami deflects.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal frowns but doesn’t push.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure thing, honey,“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But we do need to talk. About the meeting this afternoon?” Opal reminds her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami hadn’t forgotten.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Asami clears her throat, standing abruptly.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal carries the both of them through the meeting, and Asami knows then that she’s a lost cause.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She watches from the passenger seat when she once conducted the rally, only nods her head and mutters vague yeses when appropriate. Opal watches her go down in flames and doesn’t bother to extinguish the blaze that burns through the floorboards; they end the day in Opal’s office in piles of ashes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami ignores the wine that Opal offers her and it’s then that Opal knows, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal drinks the glass of wine for her along with her own, buries her face in her hands when Asami shakes her head. Asami is still smoking even with all of the water that Opal douses on her, skin blistering and bones crumbling. Opal doesn’t have it in her to ask questions, and skirts around verbalising them by pouring another glass.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami answers them anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t about her,“ Asami grunts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal leans subconsciously across the desk.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I swear it’s not.” She’s not convincing and she knows it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal has her scrutiny focused solely on Asami, her eyebrows furrowed. Asami looks back at her with an emptiness that rivals that of Opal’s glass, her fingernails tapping menially at her knee. She shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly at Opal’s expression; Asami’s never seen Opal angry but thinks that she’s getting too close for comfort.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then tell me, Asami, or so help me god,” She grits her teeth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami shakes her head once more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not yet.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then when?” Opal looks on hopelessly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Soon.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Soon. It’s an empty promise that Asami’s not going to stick to. Or at least, she probably won’t. Opal doesn’t know what to believe when Asami’s eyes well with tears and she’s crying silently, averting her gaze. Asami wipes them away as quickly as they fall, though she’s not quick enough to pretend that they were never there. Opal’s seen them, seen her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“At least tell me where you’re at.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t utter a word.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t tell Opal that she’s grown to loathe her job, the responsibilities and connotations that it brings. She doesn’t tell her that she feels like she’s lost ten years of her life, and that she misses the innocence, the motivation of a twenty-one year old Asami who was just excited to be able to afford her rent, for once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t tell her that Korra’s appearances are the only reason that she’s still trying, either, despite it being a grey area. She doesn’t even dare think about what it implies, and settles for embracing Opal. It’s crushing, and Asami tells her only what she’s certain of; Opal let’s her go home early, Asami doesn’t argue.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Love you, you know that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know. I do. Go, get some rest. I’ve got this here.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Give me time, and I’ll tell you. I will.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I said I know. You have my word.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal trusts her, and it’s enough -</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>- For now.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi y’all! so there is only one more chapter after this one! 😭 i do have some one shots written that tie to this universe (hence why this story is marked as a series) but they aren’t great honestly haha i will read through them and see if they’re good enough to post but in the meanwhile enjoy the penultimate chapter :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t call or see Korra for the next month.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She throws herself into her work, becomes the coworker that Opal deserves. She tells herself that it’s for the best. And it is, she guesses. She convinces herself of it when it’s midnight on a Friday and her heart is racing from whiskey.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One more drink, come on,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Asami, we have nine o’clock with the Johnson’s tomorrow”.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just one.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One, and then I’m done,” Opal responds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal watches from her position at her side, observes as Asami becomes the force that she had known her to be. Asami commands meetings and leads briefings like she’s been doing it for years; Opal has to remind herself that she has, and that Asami knows what she’s doing.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>They get new investors on board, clients that Asami could have once only envisioned in far off lists of goals. She secures them along with Opal, and colleagues that she doesn’t care to learn the names of because they’ll be gone in a matter of months, she knows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal is different.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal will stay, longer than the men who ran the establishment before her and longer than Asami herself will stay, she’s aware of that much. She’ll stay through all of it, watch as Asami throws herself into her work, commands meetings and wears power suits that cost more than half of the interns' cars combined; she’ll understand when Asami tells her that it’s still not enough, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hate this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You need to talk about it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not yet. Let me finish this case, then I’ll tell you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you need. You know that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The eight figures in her bank hit nine, and it’s still not enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not enough when she finishes said case and toasts to it with a glass of champagne, either.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal takes her to her office to celebrate, and Asami does nothing but fizzle out like a party pooper. Opal watches her explode in confetti and then fall to the ground. Asami cries into her shoulder for the first time since a drunken night in their early twenties and Asami knows then that something has to give.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She apologizes profusely into Opal’s chest, cries streaks of mascara down her cheeks and spills the dregs of four-hundred-dollar champagne down the lapels of her blazer. She wipes them away but it’s too late. The damage has been done and Asami’s unable to find a rug to sweep it under.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t seen you cry this much since you found out I was getting married - the first time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not funny, Opal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lightening the mood, honey. Or, at least I’m trying to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami changes out of her suit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s too constricting, she feels like she’s choking. She switches out her pants for a pair of leggings she keeps in her desk drawer for yoga, and takes the offer of Opal’s sweatshirt. She scrunches her hands into fists with the excess fabric that gathers around her wrists, kicks off her heels.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She replaces them with barely worn sneakers, white and new and pure. It feels wrong to be wearing them when she has blood on her hands, guilt hanging over her head. She tells herself that it shouldn’t matter when it’s her own blood, and she’s holding the knife, watching it glint in the low light of the company bathrooms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her eyes stare blankly back at her through the mirror.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal finds her whilst she’s still crying and Asami apologises again. It isn’t her, isn’t them, and Opal sends her off with words that blast louder than the radio of her driver as he navigates her home, briefcase hanging limply in her grasp and hair detangled from its meticulous up-do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Call her. Call Korra.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t call her, but she does text, and it’s a start.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Asami: Hi Korra, it’s Asami. I know it’s been a while, but text me when you get this? I’d like to talk</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She crawls into bed at seven o’clock on a Friday night, makes herself a cup of scalding herbal tea and leaves it to cool on her nightstand. She wraps herself in blankets that she knows that she doesn’t need now that spring has arrived, and clutches her phone to her chest. Her toes curl into her duvet and shivers form across her shins regardless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami’s skin feels like it’s on fire and being frozen simultaneously. She wants to scratch at it until the ice calms the flames, only decides against it when her hands reach for her mug of tea. She spreads her fingers against the porcelain, doesn’t care if it’s on the wrong side of room temperature, and sips at it slowly; it burns at her tongue but so does the name Korra.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami had typed out a short message, had sent it in a daze that didn’t allow for second guessing. Asami silently sings the praises of Opal’s persuasions, mulls over the plethora of possible responses that could come, ones that would be typical of Korra. Asami dares herself to picture her with the same level of enthusiasm -</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>- And has her hopes shattered before she’s even gotten them up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t call or see Korra for the next month, and Korra throws herself into her work.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She reacquaints herself with clients that she’d put on the back burner for as long as Asami had taken up her evenings, filled her pockets to the brim. They leave as quickly as they appear, in standard hotel rooms with queen sized beds and mini fridges. Korra stays long after they’ve gone; she develops a habit of reaching for the mini bar, drinking her way through until morning.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And she doesn’t complain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra thinks that she’s lucky, though uses the word tentatively. Finding the clientele to pay her sufficiently hadn’t been luck, and neither had doing her job successfully. She’s as intelligent as she is alluring and knows what she’s doing, most of the time, thinks through every detail of each visit, every kiss that she doesn’t allow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luck only becomes a fleeting thought when Asami enters the picture.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She gets a call from her - the first call of many, so many - sometime in the middle of winter. Korra answers like she does every client, her voice pleasant and husky, though the responses come few and far between. She asks her what she can do for her, tells her that the clock is ticking and quizzes her on her name.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Only Asami doesn’t tell her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t tell her then and she doesn’t tell her for over a month afterwards. Asami holds her name close to her chest but hands out money like it’s candy, treats Korra with overnight stays in luxurious hotels and tender smiles that she’s never had before, really.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami is - she’s something.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s not like Korra’s other clients but is the archetype of all they ever have been and all they ever will be. She doesn’t do this, but enjoys it. She’s not controlling, but is assertive in ways Korra’s come to expect from the corporate bosses in suits; Asami looks  every bit the part in her blazer and heels that ensure she towers over Korra’s shorter frame.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Korra thinks that she’s lucky for it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Because she’d never intended to break rules for Asami, had never contemplated breaking her entrenched set for any client, but she’d done so regardless, and thinks that she’s lucky.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She calls herself lucky when Asami is the one to fuck her senseless during their first meeting, and not the other way around, for once. She feels lucky when Asami tells her her name, eventually, and even luckier when Asami asks for the kiss that Korra’s been wanting, longing for since Asami’s lips had pressed themselves to her cheeks, neck, collarbones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She still feels lucky when her heart decides to make room for her even as she fights it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra sat on her bed, compact mirror and eyeliner brush in hand when Asami texts her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s seven o’clock on a Friday, and Asami is texting her. Korra doesn’t know what to do with herself when her chest clenches and her eyes drift, crossing the room to the set of lingerie she has folded atop of her dresser.  She picks up her phone, reads said message; it’s heavy in her hand and Korra’s never wanted the ground to swallow her up more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Asami: Hi Korra, it’s Asami. I know it’s been a while, but text me when you get this? I’d like to talk</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra huffs out a chuckle, because of course Asami texts her then, with her hair freshly curled and body smelling of vanilla from the shower. Of course she has to, she has the nerve to text her and inhabit Korra’s mind, her heart, her fingertips that betray her every want.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She can’t, not yet.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Korra: Hey you, are you okay? I’m meant to be with a client soon, do you need anything?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She wants to tell Asami anything but. She wants to tell her that she’s available to talk, available for more. She wants Asami outside of their usual hotel room at The Dominick, wants Asami at a bar, in her living room, her bedroom. It’s a want, and it’s a want that she yearns for, but it’s not part of the plan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami will leave with her head held high and it still won’t be part of the plan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra awaits for a message that takes seconds to come through.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Asami: Sorry, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra wants to scream. Asami acts nonchalant but Korra knows that she’s anything but. Korra can determine in her lingering touches and willingness to be open in front of her, Korra, that she’s everything but the disinterest that she feigns. She sends off a further message with the tip of her liner brush nestled between her front teeth.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Korra: You sure?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t respond.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra sits stationary on her bed, repaints her eyeliner a further three times as she waits, waits, waits for Asami. She’s halfway to admitting that Asami doesn’t want her like that, doesn’t need her at all in the grand scheme of things when her phone is chiming. Korra grapples at it feebly; Asami’s name is there and it’s all of the go ahead that she needs to pick up the phone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Asami: Actually, no</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra’s jaw clenches.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Korra: Can I call you?</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>Korra: I’m gonna call you</b>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The ringing is sharp, but Asami answers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s quiet, and Korra doesn’t blame her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Korra,” Asami clears her throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s the first thing that she says and she has Korra wrapped around her finger. Korra’s never been happier to be there.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want sex,” Asami continues.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s blunt, and maybe Korra laughs, but it’s something, and she lets herself run with it. She dares to believe that Asami’s on the same page, and thinks that she might be when Asami’s breathing heavily down the phone line. Korra feels for her; her palms are sweaty and fumbling with the cap of her lipstick.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok- Ok, fuck,” Korra sighs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, I know it’s been ages but I just, I had to at least try talking to you and if you don’t want to that’s ok, Korra, it’s ok, because I can’t,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Breathe.” Korra interjects.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“M’sorry,” Asami’s gained a habit for apologizing, Korra doesn’t miss it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, god, ok. Jesus, you don’t do things by half, do ‘ya?” Korra jokes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tries to keep it lighthearted, but the static on the phone line between them is heavy. Asami’s breathing grows labored and Korra’s nails tap at her knee. Korra focuses on the fabric of her bed sheets against her skin, her hair that tickles her back. It’s not as grounding as she wishes it was but it’s enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’ll have to be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look,” Asami’s voice is soft.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have a clue what the fuck I’m doing, but if I don’t do something I know I’ll regret it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra doesn’t respond in the seconds that it takes for Asami to begin overthinking again. She’s talking and Korra hears her but she doesn’t, not really. Korra’s heartbeat is deafening in her ears and she wants nothing more than to reach into her chest, crush it in her palm.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t have texted,” Asami mutters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You should have texted sooner,” Korra’s quicker to respond this time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami stays silent, this time. Korra allows her the moment that she knows that she needs. It’s a lot to take in, would be for anybody, but Asami had texted her and had answered the phone with a trembling voice and Korra knows. She needs longer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Asami.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” Asami simply hums.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have a client tonight,” Korra starts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But I swear if you tell me now, I won’t go. I won’t do it, goddamn it. You have my word, I’ll drop everything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra swallows, hard, and Asami gasps into her ear. It’s more than Korra had been hoping for, more than Asami could have imagined, and Korra’s grinning when Asami’s exhaling raggedly. She tells Korra that yes, yes, anything, and Korra presses her fingers to her lips to quell her smile. It’s futile, doesn’t work, and she smudges her lipstick but it’s irrelevant.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok,” Korra beams.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m ‘gonna need your address, Sami.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami’s vision is blurry when she answers the door to her apartment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Korra is on the other side of it, and it’s all that’s important.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She stood there in a silk, black dress, black heels and a coat. She looks expensive and Asami is proud of her, happy for her. Asami thinks the best thing about her attire is the soft smile that she wears upon her face, the subtle glint in her eyes; Asami feels underdressed in her sweatpants and T-shirt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Korra grins, takes a tentative step forward.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami relishes in the way the light of the chandelier hangs from the ceiling of her hallway illuminates Korra’s skin. It’s warm, a halo above her head, and Asami steps aside to allow her to enter the apartment. Korra nods appreciatively and Asami clicks the door shut behind them with a snap.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She turns to Korra, socks slipping against the marble floors.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to uh, let me take your coat,” Asami stutters.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shaking her head, Korra shrugs off the material. She folds it in her arms, hooks it on the bannister of the grand staircase. The breeze that the action creates tickles at Asami’s skin and Asami leans closer to Korra subconsciously.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I got it, don’t worry,” Korra reassures.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami leads them through the corridor and to the living room. Korra’s rambling about how Asami is rich rich, and that her home is beautiful but Asami doesn’t care. It’s not what’s at the forefront of her mind when Korra’s pulling her down to the couch, tucking her legs beneath her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sits close to Asami. So close that Asami can feel her breath on her cheek, hot and calming. It’s all that Asami needs to relax into her side, elbow resting on the back of said couch. Korra’s in her space, still, heels digging into the leather beneath her. Asami doesn’t have the heart to scald her when Korra’s lashes flutter against her cheek, and her words are soft in her ear.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You look good,” Korra mumbles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You look good.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami wants to laugh. She does laugh, at Korra’s audacity, her brazen interest. She sits there with the neckline of her dress falling, slipping, exposing her bra, and Asami thinks she could die happily with the sight etched into her eyelids. She thinks that she might when Korra’s hand migrates to her thigh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She curls her fingers around it, and Asami forces out a breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You want a drink?” Asami tries.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It feels like an empty offer, and it is. Korra shakes her head no, no. She doesn’t want a drink, she tells Asami. Asami nods her head in understanding and licks her tongue across her bottom lip as Korra scrutinises her with a singular swoop of her gaze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami places her own hand on top of Korra’s and squeezes. Korra looks up at her and it’s a switch flipped. She’s there, in Asami’s apartment, and she looks like that. Asami doesn’t trust herself and blinks her eyes. Korra’s still there, still in her apartment, and she feels like she’s dreamt it up; Korra’s looking at her with the same look that she’s had since their morning in Asami’s office.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lust, mostly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Comfort, certainly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Love, nearly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra kisses her once, and then they start talking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m done, Korra.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Me too. Change is good, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s necessary.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra toes off her heels, straddles Asami’s lap and loops her arms around her neck. Asami inhales the scent of her perfume that’s all vanilla and spice and Korra. She doesn’t want to come up for air if it means Korra will keep whispering in her ears, pressing delicate kisses to the tips of her ears, her cheekbones.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami pulls a blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over the both of them. She curls her sock clad  feet into the cushions of the couch and Korra dims the lamp that sits on the chest of drawers next to them. They get closer, talk talk talk, and Asami feels herself lighter to the extent that she’s certain she’d evaporate to dust if it wasn’t for Korra’s weight atop of her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tells Korra as much and is silenced with another kiss.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t complain.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Threw my work phone in a lake on the way here, y’know?” Korra starts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re crazy.” Chuckles Asami.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You already knew that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did. I’m telling Opal that I want out as soon as this case is over.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami cries, and Korra holds her. She sobs into Korra’s shoulder and Korra sheds a tear, too, muffles her sniffles in the cotton of Asami’s T-shirt. Asami strokes her hand across the small of Korra’s back and pulls her closer still, hiking Korra’s dress up to her hips with a chuckle; Asami argues that she’ll be more comfortable and Korra’s not going to protest when she’s right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sinks down further, envelopes Asami’s lips with her own during a lull in their conversation. There’s no heat behind it, and it’s nice. Asami’s able to lose herself in Korra’s hand on her cheek, her thumb that pads across her brow bone aimlessly. Korra hums into it and Asami grips tighter at her waist, just in case.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You went to college?” Asami asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhm, performing arts. Turns out I can’t act for shit, unless faking orgasms counts.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t bruise my ego here, but have you ever had to? With me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not once.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s reaffirming.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They laugh, more than Asami’s mind has allowed her to in a while. Her chest aches with it and her throat grows hoarse, but that doesn’t matter, either. Korra keeps talking to her and kissing her and Asami has to stop her eyes from slipping closed in exhaustion when they make it to Saturday and Korra’s still there, fingers in her hair.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami yawns, and Korra catches it. Asami directs them to bed, despite her resistance - she wants to talk to Korra until next week, next month, next year - and watches from her position beneath her duvet cover as Korra peels away her clothes. She drops her dress, her bra, and slouches into a sweater of Asami’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It hangs past the line of her lace panties, and Asami embraces her gladly when she joins her in the bed. Korra’s toes are cold against Asami’s shins, but Asami doesn’t flinch; she entangles her legs with Korra’s legs like it’s second nature, as if it’s normal.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami hopes that it gets to be.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I met with my lawyer last week.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“She thinks I could get out with forty.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Percent?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Jesus, Asami.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra hooks a leg across Asami’s waist, tucks her head into the space between Asami’s jaw and collar bones. She kisses at whatever patch of skin that she’s able to reach, and Asami wants her in every way. Korra blinks up at her like she wants it too and Asami feels her lithe fingers tugging at her heart strings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I want to take you on a date.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You do?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And take you shopping. Treat you. Money suits you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tell me more.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tomorrow, Korra. There’s so much more.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll hold you to that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami’s eyes are closed. Korra’s still peppering kisses to her chest, has snaked a hand beneath Asami’s shirt. She rests her fingers out across her abdomen, absorbs the excitement, the adoration that radiates off of Asami. If Asami feels her grip tighten, she doesn’t mention it, and neither does Korra, because it’s good.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s good.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra kisses her, once. It speaks for all of the words that go unsaid, for now, and Asami opens her eyes briefly just to witness Korra’s slipping closed. She returns the kiss, pulls the duvet tighter around the both of them, and is halfway dragged under by slumber when Korra speaks once more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Can we start with breakfast tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami’s heart swells, and this time, she doesn’t fight it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anything you want.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>last one everybody!!  🤍</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Asami tells Opal that she wants out, and Asami knows from Opal’s smile that she sees it coming from a mile off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tells her in a way that’s predictably Asami, over two glasses of whiskey in her office that they refill on tap. Opal laughs along drunkenly and Asami wonders why it’s taken her so long just to say it, to do it. Her smile doesn’t falter and Asami feels waves of guilt drowning her out; Opal would have never been anything but supportive and she feels foolish for assuming otherwise.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re about to become a billionaire at thirty because of this, you know that?” Opal queries.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you’re still sitting here?” She jokes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Should I be doing something else?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal places her hand atop of Asami’s in a gesture of comfort, and Asami lets herself relax. She’s shrugged off her blazer, has it folded over the back of the chair, and has her legs crossed, right over left. Her back is slumped and Opal watches her with an arched eyebrow, makes a comment about posture that Asami doesn’t catch.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami lets herself bask in the brief lightness that comes with the confession. There’s going to be a tougher time that comes, a period where Asami won’t be able to blink without lawyers and accountants forcing themselves down her throat. It’s going to happen, is going to consume her. But it’s not yet, and it’s enough.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She decides that she can allow herself the pleasure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can’t say I didn’t see it coming.” Opal notes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course not,“ Asami nods. “You’d be lying if you did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Quite right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami feels like a feather even as Opal keeps talking. Her shoulders don’t ache as she moves them and even the pinch of her heels against her feet isn’t unbearable, for once. She scuffs the point of her toes against the floor and Opal laughs brashly. Asami snickers and joins her in giggling, snorting, throwing back whiskey like it’s water.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal casts her vision from Asami’s disheveled hair downwards, and Asami meets her gaze. She smirks in response, leans across the desk between them and into Opal’s space. Opal looks back at her with narrowed eyes and Asami shrugs. A lot still goes unsaid between them but it’s progress.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami chooses to believe that it’s for the best.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am sorry,” Asami blurts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No you’re not,” Opal shakes her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There’s a soft smile upon Opal’s face and Asami knows that she’s not mad, really. Asami laughs lightly and refills both of their glasses, fills them more than she knows she should. Opal tells her that she hates whiskey but drinks it regardless of what she says, eyes locked with Asami’s. Asami focuses on the bob of Opal’s throat and huffs out a sigh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I am,“ Asami persuades. “But I have to do it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Opal simpers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami regards her, drains her glass for all it has. Opal sits back in her chair and Asami sits forward. She puts her discarded blazer back on - the watch on her wrist tells her the day has gone on longer than she’d thought - and buttons it under Opal’s scrutiny. She hiccups once, frowns and clutches her chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Opal,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Opal shakes her head. “I get it, honey. I do. You’ve done so much, you are so much. You’ve created all of this. Let somebody else take over,” She offers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not what Asami expects but it isn’t far off. Opal stops her from standing with a hand on her bicep and Asami feels her fingers clench through the fabric of her jacket. They falter when Asami shakes her head and it’s all she can do not shrug Opal off entirely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She clears her throat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal sighs, and lets go, eventually. Asami stands and rounds Opal’s side of the desk, drops a hand to her shoulder. She squeezes softly, tilts Opal’s head up to look at her with a finger beneath her chin, thumb stroking at her cheek. Opal looks at her with skin that’s flushed and eyes that are blown; Asami knows a drunk Opal when she sees one and she’s half way there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Would you ever?” Asami asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ever what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Take over, if you could.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal is still coherent, for the most part. Asami tells herself that she wouldn’t dare attempt conversation with an incoherent Opal even if she probably would, definitely would. Opal blinks dumbly and shrugs her shoulders, contemplates it as a slow hand comes to cover Asami’s own.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami gives her the extra seconds that she knows she needs and takes a step backwards. Opal follows her and stands on shaking legs, teeters back and forth in and out of Asami’s line of sight. If Asami feels the effects of the alcohol herself she doesn’t mention it, chooses not to. For Opal’s sake, she tells herself, even as her vision grows blurry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I,” Opal pauses. “Yes.” She decides.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok,“ Asami nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then I’ll do everything in my power to see your name on this building,” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Opal looks at Asami with all of the love that she harbors within her body, and Asami embraces it gladly. Opal nods her head graciously, takes one of Asami’s hands in her own and squeezes. Asami reciprocates and it’s right, it’s nice. Opal’s name belongs there, hers doesn’t, and she thinks she might be ok with that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even if it takes her a bittersweet while.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know you’re not failing, right?” Opal adds.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami’s got her hand on the handle of Opal’s office door, has her feet leading her out into the hallway. She halts at Opal’s words, grins, nods her head. There’s a spring in her step and she holds her head high. Opal looks on in approval and Asami knows then that the tethers been cut; there’s a box of belongings in her office that she should take but she doesn’t want them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They’re not hers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I know.” Asami beams.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Now If you’ll excuse me, I have a boardroom not to be in and a woman waiting in my apartment to ask on a date that should have happened a long time ago.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami gets home, and it’s silent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s barely six o’clock in the evening and the sun is still perched on its shelf in the sky. Asami wants it to stay there for as long as possible when she pads through to the living room, calls out Korra’s name. The response is an echo from the bathroom, down an adjoining hallway, and Asami follows it numbly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She can still feel the whisky trickling in her veins, buzzing through to her bones. It makes her feel warm, but the steam that meets her skin when she opens the bathroom door is warmer.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra has the window propped open with a scented candle but the mirror is still fogged up with steam. Asami takes a further step into the room and kicks off her heels, inhales the streams of spice and vanilla that waft up to her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It makes her feel heady, but she centres herself enough to flicker her eyes to the shower. Korra’s silhouette is visible through the frosted glass and Asami’s shuffling across the tiled floor with a grin on her face, pushing the window open further. If Korra hears her then she doesn’t mention it, but Asami catches the twitch of the muscles in her back, peels off her pantsuit with ease.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tosses it to the laundry basket in the corner of the room, stands in merely her panties. She leans back against the countertop, braces her hands on the edge of the sink and watches.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Silently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra moves around her shower like she was born to be there, in Asami’s space. She lathers her body with plentiful amounts of sugar scrubs, shower gels which scents build and build and build within the room. Asami inhales them and holds them in her lungs, holds Korra in her mind and her chest, her heart and</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>- Her arms.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami slides her panties down her hips, past her thighs and to the floor. She neglects to toss them into the laundry basket, tells herself she’ll pick them up later, and pries open the shower door with trembling fingers and a confident smile. Her hand slips on the pane of glass and she snickers to herself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She does so not so silently.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra turns to face her the instant that the door creaks, and Asami tucks her own hair behind her ears. Korra’s hair is slicked back from the water of the shower, and Asami tugs on a strand that drips into her palm. Korra leans into her touch and reaches around Asami’s back in order to slip the door closed behind her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami lets her do so and crowds Korra against the wall. She squeaks when the scorching skin of her back meets the frigid glass but says nothing, pulls Asami down by a hand on her neck. Asami lets her do that, too, and presses their foreheads against one and others as Korra breathes hot onto her lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How’d it go?” Korra asks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Asami nods.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Mhm, went great.”  Asami tilts her head. “Opal’s an angel,” She chuckles..</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami has Korra exhaling into her mouth, has her arms looped around her neck, and suddenly she’s sober. The water from the shower head beats down on her skin, a billion miniature bruises. Korra presses her thumbs into her skin like she knows she’s able to soothe them; Asami forgets that they were ever there when Korra connects their lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So,” Korra drawls between languid kisses. “You did it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I did,” She triumphantly said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And Opal?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Solo head of the company. That woman’s doing great things,” Asami states.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra smiles, openly, and drags kisses down from Asami’s lips and to her jaw, her neck and her collarbones. Asami leans into them subconsciously, lets out a whine when Korra wraps her lips around a nipple, laps at it with her tongue. She moans gently, is drowned out by the sound of the water hitting the tiles, and repositions herself so that her teeth skim Korra’s ear lobe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Baby,” Asami mewls.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra releases Asami’s nipple, follows the same trail back towards her mouth. Asami lets her place kiss after kiss, Korra’s tongue brushing sporadically against her bottom lip, teeth tugging a groan from within her lungs. Asami thinks that she’d be blushing if it wasn’t for the heat already prickling at her skin, blotches forming across her chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re doing great things, too,” Korra notes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami peers down into her eyes that reflect the want that Asami exudes. Korra stares back at her, scratches her nails across the top notches of Asami’s spine. Asami shivers, and Korra blinks, and Asami’s feeling feelings, a lot of them. She swallows them down but they rise again in her throat and Korra’s there, still.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She decides then that she’s not going to fight them again.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not worth it, is impossible. Korra is proof of that in all of the ways that she simply is. She exists and Asami finds herself in awe. It’s new, but promising, and Asami nods her head, kisses across her cheekbones and drops her hands to Korra’s waist. She grips tightly, squeezes, and smirks into Korra’s hairline.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I could be doing greater things,” Asami tries.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like what?” Korra cocks an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami presses her thigh between both of Korra’s spread legs and she knows, then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra’s breath hitches, and Asami drinks down her moans eagerly. She can’t see for the water that buds in droplets on her eyelashes when she maneuvers them, hikes Korra’s legs up around her waist and presses her into the tiles. She can’t see, but it doesn’t matter, because she’s able to feel.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She can feel Korra as she writhes against her, feel Korra’s tongue on hers, her nipples hard and digging into Asami’s chest. She can make out the drag of Korra’s fingernails against her spine amongst the scalding water, and smiles into their kisses that grow slower, deeper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra tightens her legs and crosses her ankles at the small of Asami’s back. Asami keeps a strong hand on one thigh, holding her up, the other stroking steadily downwards from her temple. Korra keens into the touch, kisses tenderly at Asami’s wrist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is real.”  Korra states.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’re doing this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We are.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The words carry a lot. They’re weighted and drop like sand off of Korra’s tongue, form shores in the waves of water pooling at their feet. Asami knows what Korra means without having to ask her and kisses through the connotations that she can taste through the grains.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This isn’t a job.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra is here on her own accord, and Asami wants her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The look in Korra’s eyes tells her she wants her right back and its all the confirmation that Asami needs to trail her free hand between their bodies. She ghosts her thumb across Korra’s hip bones, one at a time, and works her hand lower, Korra panting please into the minuscule space between them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami thinks that it’s madness. It’s all that she’s wanted, and it’s all that she has. Korra is coming apart in her arms and it’s all her doing. She presses the pads of her fingers to Korra’s clit and circles slowly. Korra’s head tilts back wordlessly and her eyes flutter closed. Asami keeps her lips connected to Korra’s jaw as she slips two fingers inside of her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, shit, Jesus.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s it,” Asami coaxes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra’s eyes snap open at the sensation, and it’s only then that Asami pulls her mouth away. She grins at Korra whose eyes are clouded over, blown out in lust. Korra tangles her fingers feebly in Asami’s hair that’s now soaked through, dripping, and pulls her closer still.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t know how she manages it but she does. Korra grinds her hips down into Asami’s touch that’s unrelenting, two fingers curled inside of her and heel of her palm providing the pressure that she needs on her clit. Korra grapples for all that she gives, and takes it with eager kisses, muscles that clench hot and wet around Asami.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Asami,” Korra gasps. “More.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra pleads like each of Asami’s fingers is a deep inhale, and each thrust is an exhale that empties her lungs. Asami guesses that it isn’t far from the truth, and when Korra chokes out another please, a further I need you, she slips a third finger inside of her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The whine that meets Asami’s ears is loud, unrestrained, and Asami fucks her like she can’t remember fucking anybody else. It’s quick, hard, but Asami pumps her fingers with an intensity that rivals that in Korra’s eyes. She understands in the way that Korra kisses her before she comes that it’s more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>More.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s more than a first kiss that comes a month into their hotel meetings, and more than Asami telling Korra her name moments prior. It’s more than Asami crying into Korra’s shoulder in her office, and more than Opal convincing Asami to call her, talk to her. It’s more than all of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra kisses her like she means it, and Asami dares to think that she does.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t stop.” Korra groans.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I won’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami curls her fingers, keeps them there when she feels Korra tighten around her. She has her palm pressed against her clit, and Korra clenches, cants her hips downwards. She moans slack jawed into Asami’s mouth, and Asami has to remind herself that this is real, this is happening when Korra grows limp against her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Asami.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shh-” Asami soothes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She retracts her hand slowly, loops it protectively around Korra’s other thigh.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“-I’ve got you.” She promises.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra nods into her neck, and comes down like a droplet of water on the glass of the shower, with Asami’s eyes on her, her hands holding her steady. She only sets her down when Korra mumbles an ok, braces herself cautiously back on her two feet. Asami keeps her hands propped on Korra’s waist, lets one wander to cup Korra’s cheek.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She tells herself that it’s just in case but then Korra is kissing her, again, is breathing out thank you’s that Asami doesn’t feel like she’s earned. Korra gives them to her anyway and Asami finds herself grinning, beaming as Korra catches her breath.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you smiling at?” Korra chuckles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami shrugs nonchalantly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You ‘wanna go on that date tonight?” She smirks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s quick,” Korra purses her lips.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Too quick?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami thinks that it’s too much until it isn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra pecks her once.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not at all.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami switches off the shower head, then, turns to Korra with a suggestive lilt. She takes a tentative step backwards, wrings out the excess water from her hair and leaves it to hang damp around her face. Korra reaches for a curl and tucks it behind her ear, nods when Asami leans down for a kiss, takes a hand and tugs.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her worries wash down the drain with the remnants of Korra’s body wash.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>*****</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They make it to dinner for nine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami argues that it could have been eight if they had tried, though Korra contests that the three further orgasms were worth it. Asami doesn’t have it in her to disagree when the vision of Korra, back arched against her mattress and clutching white knuckled at her bedsheets is burned into her mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know this place that’s maybe half hour away. It’s nice, I think you’ll like it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll trust you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ok?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll have to call them. It can get booked up really easily.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami takes her to a place that she thinks she’d class as one of her favourites. There’s a three month waiting list but Asami nabs them a table for two with thirty minutes notice after a minute long phone call. She watches the penny drop in Korra’s eyes as to why, and how, and escorts her into the restaurant a cars journey later as the wait staff ogle.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra looks - Asami doesn’t know.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sips at a glass of ten-thousand-dollar wine that Asami had ordered before they’d even sat down, and reclines in her chair. The velvet catches against the fabric of her dress, causes it to ride up, but Asami entangles their legs beneath the table and it doesn’t matter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra looks - expensive.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami has money, a lot of it, and isn’t sure what to do with it. But with her eyes trained on Korra, her diamond earrings that she has dotted in constellations on her lobes and up to her cartilage, she thinks she may have an idea of where to begin.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You better be donating something to charity as well.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t be right if I didn’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“See, corporate life didn’t fuck you up completely, did it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess not.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra looks - like Korra.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t want to change her, to alter her stamp that she leaves so clearly on the world surrounding her. She wants to refine it, make it bolder and make it more Korra. Asami thinks that Korra is already doing so when after a single prompt she orders whatever, whenever, commands the waiters to their table with a snap of her fingers; It’s in the way that Korra does so with gracious pleases and thank you’s that reassures Asami that she’s cut out for it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll take-“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That thing. That looks good, right Asami?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you even like duck?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’ll find out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami doesn’t touch the wine, but she does drain lemon juice splashed glasses of water like they’re the only things keeping her from losing her mind. Korra has her on the edge of her seat, hanging off of her every word that Asami’s unable to get enough of. Korra nudges her shin like the feeling is mutual and it’s only then that Asami relaxes entirely.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I like the duck.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thought so.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that orange?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sure is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I like that, too.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra’s giggles grow looser as the night progresses, and when they slip into the back of Asami’s ride a little after midnight, having tucked wads of cash into their waiters pockets, She moves to rest her head upon Asami’s shoulder. Her hands come to their homes on Asami’s thigh and Asami squeezes at them, feels her multitude of rings clacking against Korra’s.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami isn’t startled, and doesn’t tell her to do otherwise. Korra is there, and they’re doing this. She’s pressing barely there kisses to the skin that Asami’s silk dress exposes, and traces the goosebumps that form in their wake with the tips of her fingers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I never asked,” Korra starts. “How’d you find me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her eyes are mischievous and Asami adores it. She wants to tell Korra that she does but it isn’t right, yet. Korra is tipsy and rambling aimlessly, asking Asami questions that Asami has predictable answers to. Korra asks said questions regardless and nods imperceptibly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Opal had your card, said you were an old friend of Kuvira’s,” Asami admits.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra nods her head once more, before she lowers it in a daze. She rests it back on Asami’s shoulder and Asami lifts a hand, combs it through her hair. Korra sighs and Asami decides then that where this began isn’t important. Because Korra is there, and Asami guesses that she made it out, too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Korra hiccups. “God bless Opal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra is barely awake by the time that they make it to Asami’s apartment. Asami leads her into the elevator and down the hallway with an arm wrapped protectively around her waist.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They collapse on Asami’s bed in a heap of designer gowns and heels that jab at shins. Korra rests her head on Asami’s chest and Asami’s never felt more content; her heart threatens to break past the confines of her rib cage but it’s not important.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let me tell you something,” Korra mumbles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She’s half asleep and Asami wants to tell her not to worry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They have time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As much as they need.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Baby,”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Korra interrupts. “Let me tell you. S’good, promise.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami sighs, melts into the bed as Korra pushes herself up to gaze down at her. Her eyes are flames and they burn right through to Asami’s skull, so Asami smiles softly, lets herself become ashes. Korra blinks slowly and Asami thinks that she’s lost her train of thought until she’s kissing at her forehead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She does it once, doesn’t need to try for more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m, maybe, falling just a tin,” Korra inhales. “Tiny bit in love with you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not a great revelation.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Asami’s been thinking it for longer than she cares to admit, and the tenderness, the honesty in Korra’s eyes tells her that she has, too. If Korra was looking for a verbal response, she doesn’t get one, and Asami settles for nodding her head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra repeats herself.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I love you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Asami doesn’t say it back, yet, but she thinks it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra falls asleep with a soft snore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Asami tells her then, whispers it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>I love you.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Korra will wake her up in the morning and tell her that she hadn’t been sleeping at all.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Asami will tell her, again.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i am forever grateful for all the feedback i received from all of you! i am currently working on a new multi chapter fic and will begin posting once i am done writing it, in the meantime i have plenty of one shots that i will be posting and i would appreciate it if you all stick around to read those! :) i just created a tumblr if any of you are interesting in chatting about korrasami fics!! it is @hemofherdress :) xx</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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